Chuck vs The Time Warp
by Costas TT
Summary: That's just a Chuck shake, with bits of some of my favorite movies thrown in for extra flavor. Hopefully it 'll taste better than Awesome's ginseng protein shake, hehe.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Just a nice (I hope) Chuck shake with bits of some of my favorite movies thrown in for extra flavor. Enjoy!

Rated T to T+ for language and violence. Might go up to M on occasion.

Do I really have to repeat the disclaimers and stuff? It's like the Miranda rights. We all know them.

**Chuck vs The Time Warp**

**Cast of characters: **

_**The Good**_

Zachary Levi as Chuck Bartowski

Yvonne Strahovski as Sarah Walker

Adam Baldwin as John Casey

Joshua Gomez as Morgan Grimes

Ryan McPartlin as Devon Woodcomb

Sarah Lancaster as Ellie Bartowski

Mini Anden as Carina Miller

Scott Krinsky as Jeff Barnes

Vik Sahay as Lester Patel

Julia Ling as Anna Wu

Mark Christopher Lawrence as Michael 'Big Mike' Tucker

John Larroquette as Roan Montgomery

Bonita Fredericy as Diane Beckman

Tony Todd as Langston Graham

Jonathan Cake as Cole Barker

Matthew Bomer as Bryce Larkin

Jordana Brewster as Jill Roberts

Ivana Milicevic as Ilsa Trinchina

Tricia Helfer as Alex Forrest

Clare Carey as Kathleen McHugh-Casey

Mekenna Melvin as Alex Casey

Gary Cole as Jack Burton

Scott Bakula as Stephen Bartowski (aka Orion)

_**The Bad**_

Brandon Routh as Daniel Shaw

Michael Rooker as Erich Mauser

Arnold Vosloo as Vincent Schmitt (aka Vincent Smith)

Chevy Chase as Teo Von Roark

Vinnie Jones as Karl Stromberg

Johnny Messner as Rafe Gruber

Robert Patrick as Keller 

'Stone Cold' Steve Austin as Hugo (aka _Der Panzer_)

_**And the Ugly **_

_**(Special Guest Stars)**_

Sean Connery as General Roy Urquhart

Clint Eastwood as Gunnery Sergeant Tom Highway

**January 4****th**** 1944, somewhere over the Pacific**

Major John Alexander Casey, USMC, stretched his aching limbs and for the tenth time tried to find a more comfortable position, so that he could go back to sleep. Once again, his hand went to a pocket of his rumpled uniform and pulled out his wallet. From it he extracted a creased, cracked and faded photo. It was one of the things that had kept him alive through the Guadalcanal campaign and helped him survive the hell of Bloody Tarawa. He looked lovingly at the smiling faces of his wife Kathleen and their daughter Alex. At that moment it almost felt like he was back home holding them in his arms, instead of being in a cold, noisy, lumbering Consolidated PB2Y-3R Coronado transport flying boat. Yet, every stroke of the four faithful Pratt & Whitney R-1830 Twin Wasp radial engines, every turn of each of the four propellers, brought him that much closer to home. Slowly but surely. This happy thought was the last thing that crossed his mind before he dozed off again.

A maneuver of the plane woke him up. It had banked more steeply than usual and almost threw him from his seat. Looking out the small circular window he saw the familiar sight of the US West Coast. _About damn time _he thought. The trip seemed to have taken forever. Not that he hadn't tried to relieve the boredom; he had paced the length of the plane's passenger/cargo compartment several times, had played cards with the relief crew and the other passengers. A smile played across his face as he recalled that he had made an easy buck when he beat the others at poker. It was not much, they had played with dimes and quarters mostly, but it would be enough to buy a nice present for his wife and one for his daughter at the first PX he could find. _No better way to spend my poker earnings, _he chuckled to himself. Looking out again, he saw that the Coronado was on final approach to NAS San Diego. In fact a green flare had just been fired from the guard launch, indicating that there was nothing in the water that could tear the hull of the big flying boat open. The landing was smooth enough and soon the big aircraft was being fitted with its beaching gear by sailors in waders. The onerous task completed, the flying boat taxied up a seaplane ramp to dry land and then to its assigned parking spot. Casey gathered his belongings, said his goodbyes to the crew and the other passengers and stepped out on the tarmac. A pimply faced Marine approached him and saluted; Casey returned the salute. The young man then spoke. "Sir, excuse me, are you Major Casey, sir?"

"Yes, I am."

"Private First Class William Cartwright, sir!" the man said, "I will be your driver, sir, all the way to Camp Pendleton, sir. Let me take your baggage sir."

"Thank you, Private Cartwright. Lead the way."

"Yes, sir! Right this way, sir."

The young PFC stowed Casey's bags in the trunk of a Chevrolet sedan and then held a rear door open for the officer to enter.

"If you don't mind, Private, I'd like to ride up front."

"Suit yourself, sir," Cartwright said, moving swiftly to open the passenger side door for Casey. Soon they were on their way.

"Major, sir, would you mind me askin' you a question?" asked Cartwright while driving.

"No, not at all. Shoot."

"You are with the 8th Marines, right sir?"

"Yep."

"Do you happen to know a Sergeant Price, sir?

"Russ Price? He's a good man."

"That's the one, sir. So, it was you sir."

"Me what, Private?"

"When he got back from 'Canal, he told me of a mean sonuvabitch Major that saved his ass outta there. So, I was meaning to thank that Major, if I ever had a chance to meet him, sir. You saved my brother in law. Thank you sir."

"You are welcome. Just so you know, Sergeant Price did a great job there. That's why I put him in for a Silver Star."

"Mighty nice of you, sir."

"It's the least I could do for him. I'm sure he told you the whole story."

"Every sordid detail, sir."

"Now, I have a question for you. Why are we going to Pendleton?"

"Orders, sir."

"I see. It's just… I was ordered stateside with no clarification on where and who I'd be reporting to. I guess I'll just have to wait and see."

When they got to Camp Pendleton, PFC Cartwright dropped him off at the officers' quarters. A Corporal there explained to him that he had some time to take a shower, change, grab some breakfast at the officers' mess and get some rest before he would be taken to see the General. Casey made the most of the time available to him and he was feeling very refreshed when the Corporal came for him. The jeep ride to the headquarters building was short and sweet. Casey was shown to an office and told that the General was waiting for him. He knocked on the door and let himself in when he heard a brusque 'come in'.

He closed the door behind him and stood rigidly at attention.

"Major John Casey, reporting as ordered, sir!" he said snappily.

"At ease, Major," said the man behind the desk. He was wearing the rank of a Brigadier General. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Thank you, General, sir. That 'd be fine."

"Help yourself, Major, and take a seat. We have a lot to talk about." The general waited until Casey was seated and continued. "I see from your file that at one point you were assessed for potentially being assigned to special operations. You were apparently deemed suitable and that's why you are here today. Major, how would you like to be attached to an OSS unit?"

"The Office of Strategic Services, sir? Me, a spy?"

"Not exactly, Major. At least not in the traditional sense. From what I'm able to tell you, it appears that you will be given missions behind enemy lines. Like the British Commandos and our own Marine Raiders and Army Rangers. Only it will be with small detachments, squad sized, and the objectives will be determined by the OSS. So, are you in, Major?"

"If it will help shorten the war, yes, I'm in, General"

"I don't know how much it will shorten the war, but you can definitely help save Allied lives. A lot of them."

"I'm in, General."

"Good. Take a week off. Go see your family. You will receive your new orders on the twelfth. That will be all, Major. Dismissed. And… Congratulations, Major."

"Thank you General, Sir!" Casey saluted and left. He looked at his watch. It was 0945 hours. If he could catch a flight to Los Angeles, we would make a surprise appearance to his family in time for dinner. And he was really looking forward to that. He went to make the necessary arrangements. There was a hack flight to Los Angeles at 1400 hours. So, he still had a few hours to kill.

He wandered over parts of the sprawling camp, and he chanced upon one of the obstacle courses. He paused when he saw an instructor overseeing a platoon of recruits throw his field cap on the ground and stomp the dirt in an overt display of frustration. The man was quite familiar to Casey. As he came closer, he heard the instructor lash out at his trainees.

"You Morons have to be hands down bar none the worst batch of rookie pussies that ever set foot on those grounds," rasped the instructor in a menacing gravelly voice, "WHAT'S YOUR MAJOR MALFUNCTION NUMBNUTS? I'll have you know that I've killed more people, pissed more beer and fucked more pussy than the lot of you limp dicks _and_ your daddies combined I wanna turn you into name takers and heart breakers but you ain't making it easy for me. And in turn I'm gonna be your worst nightmare. You'll come to fear me more than an entire Jap division. I-"

"After all those years, you're still using the same ol' lines, Gunny? Can't say I'm impressed," interrupted Casey. The grizzled old NCO turned and looked at the new arrival, "Platoon, officer on deck!" he bellowed and the recruits snapped to attention as he saluted Casey. The man's wrinkled face was etched in a permanent scowl, but could not hide a smile as he recognized the officer before him.

"As you were, men," Casey told the platoon and turned to the Sergeant. "Gunny Highway," he said returning the salute with a smile and extending his hand, "it's been a long time."

"Almost two years to the day, Major, sir," replied Highway returning a firm handshake.

"Y' know, Tom, you don't have to be all formal around me. You remember that you were already a veteran when I was still a wet behind the ears 2LT at Belleau Wood. So, they finally put you out to pasture, huh?"

"Could be worse. They could have retired me, if not for this fuckin' war. I ain't gettin' any younger, Major. So, what brings you here?"

"Don't know yet myself, but I got an idea at a meeting with General Dawson."

"Let me guess, sir, you're going to do special missions."

"How d' you know, Gunny?"

"I had to train some folks the General sent me."

"I see. Tom, I'd love to go down memory lane with you, but I've got to be on a flight to LA by 1400 hours. I'll just make it if I go now. Give my regards to your wife."  
"You too, sir. Give Alex a kiss from me."

"Will do. See you around."

"Goodbye Major."

Casey managed to hitch a ride back to NAS San Diego in time for his flight. The Beechcraft JRB-4 covered the distance in less than an hour. Once in LA he was given a lift from the airfield to the city on an Army bus. At last he was home. He took a look at the house, his mind going back to the time he had last been there before he shipped out to join the fighting. He had promised Kathleen that he'd be back and he had kept that promise. The door was unlocked, so he went in and heard someone whistling a tune in the kitchen. Sure enough, Kathleen was there restocking the cupboards and the refrigerator. He snuck up to her, put his arms around her waist and kissed her neck. She gave a surprised yelp but when she realized that her husband was back hugged him and planted a long loving kiss on his lips.

"Welcome home, honey," she said.

"I missed you Kat."

"We missed you too, John," she said and kissed him again.

"Where's Alex?"

"She's with a friend of hers studying. She'll be back shortly. But I think we have just enough time for me to show you just how much I've missed you, Sugar Bear," she said with a saucy grin. He said nothing; instead he scooped her up in his arms and carried her upstairs to their bedroom, kissing her all the way up.

An hour and a half later, they were both back downstairs in the living room, when the door opened and Alex entered. She almost dropped her books in surprise.

"Daddy?" was all that she managed to say.

"Come here, kid," he said.

"Yes, sir!" she ran to him and gave him a big hug and was in turn lost in her father's loving embrace. He then gave them the presents he had bought for them, which they loved, and told them that he had a week off before he had to go to DC for his new assignment. They all agreed that this week would be devoted to family quality time.

**Washington, DC**

"Morning, angel," said the middle aged man as he entered his daughter's room carrying a small tray, "rise and shine."

"Hrrrmmmph," was the only reply from under the covers. He smiled. That girl was definitely not a morning person. He tugged at the covers and kissed her cheek.

"Daddy, let me sleep, please," she begged.

"No way. You'll be late for work missy. Besides, I've made your favorite breakfast. French toast, whipped cream, strawberries and orange juice." The girl resigned herself to her fate and sat up in bed. Her father had taken to waking her up every morning in the last two weeks, ever since she had killed her alarm clock with a well aimed throw of the hunting knife that her grandfather had left her. Blinking and rubbing the cobwebs away, she reached for the glass her father held out to her and took a long sip of the orange juice. _I need coffee too, I'm not twelve anymore daddy, _she thought, but said nothing

"So, what's in store for you today, Sam?" he asked her.

"A new mission, I guess. Can't say more. But don't you go all G-man on me, Special Agent Jack Burton. Dad, I mean," she said with a smile, "you'll be busy enough looking for Nazi spies in every nook and cranny as it is."

"I kinda miss the days when all I had to contend with was the mob…"

"You mean the days you had everyone, myself included, fooled into thinking that you were just a con man?"

"Your mom knew the truth. But you wanted to stick with me. At least she had your sister. I don't know… I guess she was better off with her and you with me." His eyes had a faraway look as he remembered his late wife. He loved her and their children with all his heart and it pained him that his work for the FBI caused him to miss so much of their lives.

"Daddy, there is just one thing I need to tell you, and please do not be upset."

"What is it, doll face?" he asked and she took a deep breath before answering.

"Dad, as of today Samantha Burton is no more. From now on I'll be Sarah Walker. That's a job requirement."

"Sarah Walker, huh? You chose that name?"

"Yes, I did."

"I like it. Your mother's name and my middle name. I can get used to it. Makes you feel…"

"Yes, it makes me feel that I'm still the same person."

"What about your new middle name?"

"Oh, that. I kept my own. So, Mr. Burton, meet Sarah Lisa Walker. Me!" She let out a giggle.

"Nice to meet you, miss Walker," he said. "Now, eat your breakfast, get dressed and go to work. I have to be going myself. Bye darling."

"Bye Daddy!"

**Burbank, CA**

"Ellie, have you seen my notes anywhere?" asked the tall gangling man with unruly brown hair.

"I think they are on the coffee table, Chuck. Look, I've got to hurry, or I'll be late for my shift at the hospital. I'll be back for dinner, little brother," replied the tall brunette.

"Great. See you then Ellie. I still have a few days till I have to go back to DC, and I want to get a chance to see Captain Awe- Devon, I mean. My job and all keeps me away for so long that I've missed you both."

After his sister left, Chuck sat on the couch and picked up a magazine. It was easy for him to relax, even though Burbank was anything but quiet these days. The brand new aircraft being test flown all the time from the sprawling Lockheed plant alone made sure of that. His thoughts turned to wondering what his new assignment would be. Having a degree in electrical engineering from Stanford University was what led him into working for the government on the development of radar equipment and electronic countermeasures. It was something that he was really good at. At times he wished that he was in uniform fighting in the Pacific or in Europe, but he reasoned that his work was just as good a contribution to the Allied cause. Sighing, he decided that for a few days he would stop thinking about work, and instead enjoy his free time with his family and friends.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **I certainly do not expect that many of you will be familiar with some of the historical and technical terms I'll be using. To get the full picture, I suggest that you look them up online.

I do not own Chuck or any of the movies and novels referenced in this story… (I'd love to own Sarah Walker though)

I'd also like to thank you for encouraging me to continue the story.

**Somewhere over Europe**

"Pauke, Pauke!" Oberleutnant Hans Günther yelled excitedly into his mike as he wrenched the big Junkers Ju 88C-6c night fighter into a tight turn. The ground controllers had directed them to the bomber stream and Klaus, his radar operator, had found him a target. Now he had visual contact as well. Coming closer, he identified his target as an Avro Lancaster heavy bomber. It was one of the hated things that rained death and destruction on the Fatherland almost every night. He sideslipped a bit to the right and positioned his fighter below the bomber, where he was invisible to its crew, making sure to synchronize his speed with that of his prey. Finally, he pulled the nose of the Junkers sharply upwards by yanking the control wheel back and pressed down on the trigger. The three 20 millimeter MG-FF cannon stuttered in concert as they sent a steady stream of armor piercing and high explosive shells into the bomber's vulnerable underside with the clatter of the three 7.92 mm MG 17 machine guns adding to the din. Breaking away, he watched with satisfaction as his victim caught fire and started its death dive towards the earth. In the light provided by the flames engulfing the doomed aircraft, he saw the individual identification letter painted in dull red on the matt black fuselage side by the RAF bullseye roundel. It was an S. _S for Sugar_, he remembered an intelligence briefing. Well, S for Sugar would do no more harm now. Looking around, he saw some bright dots descending from the sky; some slowly like flares, others fast like comets. Most had a reddish hue, but one was whitish. His mood darkened a bit when he realized that despite their success one of his comrades was going down. Even in the dark it was easy to discern if a burning aircraft was friendly or not; British aircraft burned red, while German aircraft, which had a high magnesium content in their alloys burned white. Günther was about to ask his radar operator for another target, when suddenly a stream of tracers shot past the Junkers on the left. The hunter had become the hunted. Cursing, he corkscrewed hard to the right, hoping that the De Havilland Mosquito night fighter that had sneaked up on them would lose both radar and visual contact. He let out a relieved breath as the evasive maneuver apparently worked. The relief was short lived, however, as the port Jumo 211J engine coughed and sputtered. A quick look at the instruments confirmed that the Mosquito's fire was more accurate than he had surmised. At that instant, the engine caught fire. There was no other option but to bail out. He turned to give the order and saw the radar operator slumped over his equipment, his flightsuit stained with blood. Engaging the autopilot, he checked on his crewman. The kid was out cold, but alive. He dragged him to the escape hatch, popped it open and jumped, still holding on to the unconscious younger man. Counting to three, he pulled Klaus' parachute ripcord. He then opened his own 'chute and, while slowly descending, watched sadly as his burning fighter impacted the earth and exploded in a massive fireball.

**January 5****th**** 1944, Burbank, CA**

Chuck was sitting on the couch at Ellie's place, reading the latest issue of Life magazine. He was bored, although he tried to hide it as best as he could. His sister had gone to the store and had refused his offer to help, saying that she wouldn't buy too many things and that she could manage on her own. Ellie's boyfriend Captain Awesome, known to the world as Devon Woodcomb, was still at work. Chuck smirked when he realized that the nickname he had coined to his future brother in law was now literal. Ellie had told him that a few weeks ago Devon had been promoted to Captain. Although Devon had not yet proposed to Ellie, but Chuck knew that it was just a matter of time, given how much the couple loved each other. Being a chest cutter, as his specialty was colloquially known in medical circles, Devon was in his element as a flight surgeon with the USAAF, evaluating the cardiopulmonary functions of pilots during their medicals, scheduled or otherwise, or tending to aircrew injured in the occasional mishap. He had joined the military right after Pearl Harbor and was somewhat disappointed when he did not get a posting to a combat unit. Nevertheless, he strove to be as efficient in his job as he could be. The sound of the door opening jostled him from his thoughts. _Speak of the devil, _he thought as Captain Woodcomb entered.

"Hey bro," he said, "what are you doin' here all alone?"

"Oh, hey Devon. Ellie's gone to the store. She'll not be long now. How was your day?"

"Pretty boring, mostly, which is kinda good, I guess. Thankfully, one of the guys offered me a ride in a Lightning and, let me tell you, it was one hell of a ride! Really awesome!"

"Lightnings are single seaters. How on earth did you manage to fit in one with another guy?"

"That one was somewhat special, pal, a prototype they've got at the plant. It's the XF-5D Photo Lightning, which has a navigator station in the nose. Although it did not go into series production, they still keep it around as a test bed and hack. I'll show you the photos when I get the film developed at the base lab."

"Sounds interesting. I'd love to see them. Hey, I was wondering, when Ellie comes home we can all go grab some Chinese food at Anna's. I've really missed that place. Save Ellie the trouble of cooking. She could use the rest. What do you think?"

"That'd be awesome, Chuck. The truth be told, I haven't been there in ages myself. Plus, Ellie would love it, I'm sure."

"It's settled then. I only wish that Morgan was here too. He loves Chinese food and, just between us, I think he had a thing for Anna. Never told me anything, but I sorta knew."

"I miss him too. He's a nice guy. Where was he the last time he wrote?"

"I think he was in France. But that was a long time ago. Who knows where he is now…"

"He'll be back. Count on it."

"Yeah, I know. It's just… It's not like him to stop writing all of a sudden."

"There _is_ a war going on. And if I know him, he's in it somehow."

**Los Angeles, CA**

The Caseys and their guests were gathered around the table in the dining room, happily finishing their dessert. To say that Kathleen's cooking was good would be a gross understatement. Objectively, the woman was easily the equal of the best chefs in most of the five star hotels. Over coffee, the conversation had drifted to various subjects, from neighborhood gossip to the war in general, to the latest assignment that Casey himself was about to be given. Understandably, neither Casey nor Highway could discuss the subject openly, keeping only to the parts that were deemed safe.

"So, Tom, since you told me that you have experience in training people for that kind of work, tell me what I can expect, how it is and be frank about it," said Casey.

"It's a cluster fuck, sir," growled Highway.

"TOM!" Kathleen and Aggie, Highway's wife, exclaimed together, somewhat shocked. Highway's turn of speech was in no way modified or inhibited by the presence of members of the opposite sex. Casey smirked, but Alex giggled and then started laughing in earnest.

"Alex!" said her mother sternly.

"Sorry mom, it's so funny, you know. Besides, listening to Dad and Uncle Tom over the years has taught me almost all the profanity I know. Which is enough to make even the frat guys in college cringe."

Casey cleared his throat, indicating that he wished to continue his conversation with his friend. Highway took his cue and spoke again.

"What I said meant that they will give you a mixed bag to work with. Some will have military training, even combat experience; they are the easier ones. But if you're also stuck with civilians whose skills you'll need on the job, then it all goes south. I can't exactly tell you why and how, 'cause I'll be risking another reprimand by the ladies," he said looking meaningfully at Aggie and Kathleen.

"Well, Tom, I'll take all that into serious consideration. Thanks for the warning, too."

"I have something to keep your spirits up, Major." Highway got up and less than a minute later returned with a small box.

"Chooz brought these when he went on a stint with the Fleet Marine Force. I told him to get enough for both me and you sir."

Casey opened the package and to his delight saw that it was a box of cigars from Costa Gravas. The finest brand, too. He carefully, almost reverently, extracted one from the box and stuck it between his teeth. His face took an expression of bliss. Highway smiled as he chomped on an identical cigar that he had fished from his shirt pocket. Casey flipped open his Zippo and offered his friend a light; then he lit up as well. Soon the dining room was filled with a cloud of smoke, obliging Alex to open a window in order to make the atmosphere breathable again.

**Burbank, CA**

As both Chuck and Devon had expected, Ellie jumped at the suggestion that they go to Anna's. The restaurant was not far from their place, the food was more than good and of course Anna Wu was a long time friend of the Bartowskis.

"Chuck!" the small Asian woman exclaimed when she saw him enter. She was obviously very happy to see him. She also showed it by running to him and giving him a big hug. She then turned and greeted Ellie and Devon just as warmly.

"Wow, it's been a long time since all you guys came here," she said, "although, I was kinda hoping to see Morgan with you," she added. Chuck and Devon shared a knowing look. It seemed that not only Morgan had feelings for Anna, but she also had a thing for the short bearded man. Anna gave them the best table in her restaurant and, after taking their order, hurried to the kitchen to oversee the preparation of her friends' meal. Since there were not many customers at this hour, she joined them at their table for some small talk.

"So, Chuck," Anna began, "how are things in DC?"

"It can be a bit hectic sometimes. Other than that it's pretty much normal. I'm sorry, but I can't exactly tell you what I'm doing there."

"Never mind, Chucky. I understand. As long as it helps bring an end to this war… By the way, Devon, congratulations on your promotion."

"Thanks Anna. How did you know?"

"Your rank bars. They are different now. Plus, Ellie told me when I met her at the store a few days ago."

Ellie and Anna did most of the talking after that, mostly discussing their common interests, with Ellie at one point asking her friend for her opinion on how to best add a Chinese touch to some of her favorite recipes. When the fortune cookies arrived, Anna translated the script to the others and tried to explain the philosophical meaning behind the phrases. She also insisted that the meal be on the house, but Chuck, Devon and Ellie would have none of it. Before they left she made them promise to tell her any news on Morgan the moment they received it.

**Washington DC**

It was already dark when Sarah Walker strode confidently into the building that housed the OSS Headquarters. Today she would be getting her first assignment in the new section she'd been transferred to. Although she was by now experienced in the whole cloak and dagger game, she could not help but feel a bit excited about it. After all, it was not often that an agent had to get a whole new identity while still in the US, so it had to be something big. As she entered the waiting room of her new boss' office, his personal assistant, a small middle aged redheaded woman looked up at her and smiled.

"Hello, Sarah dear," she said, "take a seat. The General will see you in a minute."

"Thank you Mrs. Beckman," Sarah replied and sat down. Crossing a silk clad leg over the other, she smoothed an almost invisible wrinkle on her tight skirt and let her mind once again wonder to the possible natures of her new assignment; would it be in occupied Europe? Or would they send her to a neutral country? The buzz of the intercom on Mrs. Beckman's desk interrupted her train of thought.

"Diane? Is Agent Walker here yet?" came a voice from the intercom. Beckman pressed a button to reply. "Ah, she's right here, Roan. Do you want me to send her in?" she said. The answer from the General was affirmative. The use of the General's first name, however, caused Sarah to give Mrs. Beckman a curious look.

"You can go right in, dear," the older woman said. "And about the name thing, he insists on it. We have worked together for a long time," she added. Sarah nodded and knocked on the heavy oak door of Brig. Gen. Roan Montgomery's office.

"Come in," he replied.

"You asked to see me, sir," she said entering and closing the door behind her.

"Yes, Agent Walker, please take a seat. Can I offer you a drink? A martini, perhaps?" As she sat down, General Montgomery cast an appraising look at her. To say that the young woman was beautiful would simply not do her justice. The charcoal grey skirt and jacket that she was wearing hugged her curves perfectly. Her hat was at a rakish angle on her head, blonde hair pulled in a bun and her face showed just a touch of makeup. Not that she needed any to begin with.

"No, thank you, sir," she replied.

"You don't mind if I have one, do you?"

"No, sir."

The General poured himself a martini and sank back in his chair.

"Agent Walker," he began, "your record so far has been exemplary. Your work with F Section SOE and the BCRA has earned you glowing endorsements from our Allies. Now, you have a chance to do more. We have a much bigger mission and we would like for you to be the deputy lead on it."

"Me, sir?"

"Yes. It is not what you have gotten used to so far, however. It's more of a commando mission. Special detachment stuff, if you prefer. It's got to do with the upcoming invasion of Europe. Very, very secret stuff, hence the need for you to get a new identity. "

"I can do it sir."

"Excellent. Your first mission with the detachment will also be a kind of test run, but still very important. Diane will give you your initial orders. You leave first thing tomorrow. It will take a little longer to assemble the rest of your team, but I want you to lay the groundwork in preparation for training." Sarah made a face at the mention of the word 'training'. She was a highly trained and experienced operative and was accustomed to working solo or at least with people who had undergone the same training as her. Time for the team members to get acquainted with each other and form the kind of bonds that ensured the successful outcome of the mission she could understand. And even that could be done during the briefing and preparation phase. The General noticed her uneasiness.

"It is the kind of mission that requires the participation of personnel from various branches of the Armed Forces many of whom will have no experience in covert operations, as well as civilians," he explained. "I can't tell you all about it right now, but I assure you, it is very important. I might add that this will be an inter-allied effort. Plus you will probably need the cooperation of local Resistance organizations." She could barely suppress a groan of frustration. So far she had managed to avoid having dealings with the resistance in any of the countries she had been. Keen and dedicated they might be, but they still lacked the training and discipline that she considered essential. The risk of betrayal or discovery by the Germans was also exponentially increased when working with a resistance cell.

"Sir, with all due respect, why me?"

"Sarah," he said, using her first name for emphasis, "you speak excellent French and German. You are a crack shot, as well as an expert with knives. You are parachute qualified. You are a naturally gifted actress. And you have exhibited considerable leadership qualities on your past missions. In my book these aforementioned qualities make you ideal for Project Intersect, as this endeavor is codenamed."

"I understand and appreciate your confidence in me, General," she said cautiously, "but I am still uncomfortable with the whole concept. I am used to operating either alone or with other agents, always independently, without any potentially compromising contact with the local resistance and-." He held up a hand to stop her.

"I know how you usually operate, Agent Walker. In this case, I'll make you a deal. You and the team leader will be able to reject any of the candidates that you consider unfit or otherwise unsuitable for participation in the operation during the training phase. Is that understood?"

"Yes, I understand sir."

"Very well then." He rose from behind his desk and she did the same. He shook her hand and then put an arm around her shoulders. She tensed; the General's reputation as a ladies' man was well known. But he just guided her to the door and wished her luck on her new mission, before leaving her in the capable hands of his assistant. Mrs. Beckman immediately gave Sarah the file folder pertaining to the initial details of her assignment and quickly briefed her on the travel plans, contacts and some other details that she needed to know.

Sarah left the OSS Headquarters in a daze. This mission was new territory for her, and she was not sure how to take it. She needed to clear her head, so she decided to go home and think about it over a glass of wine while luxuriating in a hot bath. Tomorrow promised to be a long day.

**January 6****th**** 1944, Berlin, Germany**

Gruppenführer Teo Von Roark stepped from the chauffeured Mercedes into the SS Führungshauptamt building on Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, acknowledging the salute of the smartly uniformed guards at the entrance. He moved slowly, like a man aged beyond his years. He was certainly tired, but he ignored the fatigue as he made his way to his office; there were more pressing matters at hand. Reichsführer Himmler had finally given his approval during their earlier meeting. The Ring Abteilung, as the outfit under Von Roark's command was codenamed, was to undertake its most ambitious mission yet. A mission that, if successful, would change the course of the war in favor of the Reich, or at least buy enough time for the Wünderwaffen that were being developed to enter production and hopefully reverse the flagging fortunes of the Nazi state and its battered but still mighty war machine. Despite being a fanatical Nazi, Von Roark was a realist and believed that there was only a small chance for all these grandiose plans to succeed, but if Germany could get some breathing space, it was worth the effort. However, he wisely kept his reservations to himself. Being viewed as a defeatist was not good for his career, or his life, for he had made many enemies, even in the SS, who would have been only too glad to see him removed from his post in disgrace or worse. He hit the intercom button on his desk.

"Call Standartenführer Keller and tell him to come and see me immediately," he told his secretary.

**Eprobung****sstelle Rechlin, Germany**

It was a clear day, ideal for flying, something unusual at that time of year. Two 'black men', as the Luftwaffe ground crew were known on account of their coveralls waited patiently for the Junkers to taxi to its assigned parking spot where they would put the wooden wheel chocks in place. The task completed, they retreated to join another man who was standing ready with a fire extinguisher. The pilot killed the engines and exited the aircraft, while the ground crew started fussing all over it, tying it down and doing the prescribed post flight maintenance. The pilot moved towards a balding bespectacled man in civilian clothes who was waiting off to the side.

"How did the flight go, Herr Major?" the civilian asked.

"It was good, Herr Doctor. The new system is performing quite well. There are just a few minor bugs to work out, but I believe that we can proceed to the next phase and start operational testing."

"I expect your report on those 'few minor bugs' to be on my desk later today, Herr Major."

"Don't worry, Dr. Busgang. You did a great job in a short time. If I'm right, all it will need is some fine tuning and some stronger couplings and attachments for the wiring. I had a couple coming loose on this flight." The pilot moved towards a Kubelwagen.

"Would you like a lift, Herr Doctor?"

"Sure, why not. I'll buy you lunch, too, Herr Major."

"Thank you Herr Doctor." He held the door open for the older man, then got in himself and drove off towards the mess.

**Berlin, Germany**

The tall imposing man entered Von Roark's office, clicked his heels and gave the Nazi salute, barking 'Heil Hitler!' Von Roark looked up from his paperwork and motioned for the other man to take a seat.

"Standartenführer Keller," he said without preamble, "I just returned from a meeting with the Reichsführer. He told me that your concept for Operation Fulcrum has been approved by the Führer himself." The SS Colonel smiled thinly. When Von Roark had stolen him from the Sicherheitsdienst, SD for short, his boss Walter Schellenberg, the chief of the Amt VI, Ausland-SD, the foreign intelligence operations section of the Reich's Security Office, was not exactly happy. In fact many other high ranking SS officers were also _extremely_ unhappy every time Von Roark poached in their private fiefdoms in order to staff his own detachment.

"What do you want me to do, Herr Gruppenführer?" he asked.

"I want you to ensure that the men assigned to Operation Fulcrum are the best we have. I want a team handpicked. Any Ideas as who is going to lead?"

"Jawohl, Herr Gruppenführer. I will lead the operation."

"You?"

"Jawohl, Herr Gruppenführer," he repeated, "I am fully qualified for the mission. In fact I consider my participation essential for a variety of reasons."

"Very well, Standartenführer Keller. I would like the files on the men that you choose on my desk by tomorrow. You may get started now." Keller rose and snapped to attention, again clicking his heels.

"Zu befehl, Herr Gruppenführer. Heil Hitler!" he said, saluting his superior.

"Heil Hitler!"

**S****omewhere in the US**

Sarah stepped off the plane and on to the tarmac. Fortunately, the OSS had seen fit to book her on a commercial flight, so the trip had been very comfortable. Not that it did much to relieve the uneasy feeling she had about her new assignment since yesterday. General Montgomery had been very vague as to the exact nature of the mission. Perhaps he did not know exactly what it would be himself yet. But he definitely knew that there _was_ a mission in the works. _Figures,_ she thought. They were putting a team together, allowing time for training and eventually they would determine if the aforementioned team was suitable for whatever scheme the powers that be had in mind. According to Mrs. Beckman she had at least a couple of days before the first of the others would arrive. Entering the small terminal building, she looked around for her contact. She soon spotted him; a rotund black man in a casual outfit. Mrs. Beckman had described him perfectly. She picked up her suitcase and travel bag and walked over to him.

"Mr. Michael Tucker?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am," he replied. "You must be Miss Walker. How do you do. You can call me Big Mike."

"Nice to meet you Mr Tuck- Big Mike, I mean."

"Let me get your luggage, Ms. Walker. The car is right over there. Good flight?"

"Ah, yes, it was pleasant. And please, call me Sarah."

"OK, Sarah. You are exactly like what the General said you'd be, if you don't mind me sayin' so. By the way, me and my pal Langston, you'll meet him soon, have orders to provide anything you and your team might need around here. Anything you need and I mean anything; supplies, transportation, booze, whatever, no matter how strange it may be, we can get. All you have to do is ask."

"Good to know, thanks Big Mike."

It was a two hour ride from the airport to her destination. Sarah made some small talk with Big Mike, and quickly figured that he and that Langston he mentioned were just logistics men. They obviously had no clue as to what was up. Eventually, they made it to a secluded spot near a beach. It was a large property that was apparently ideal for use as a secret training facility and that was probably why the OSS had leased it for the duration of the war. The row of small cottages nearer the beach and separate from the other buildings suggested that it had been intended as a holiday retreat before the war. Big Mike drove straight to one of the cottages and parked the car. He opened the door for her and showed her inside, before returning to the car to get her luggage. He told her that she could call him to bring her dinner to the cottage after she made herself comfortable. She smiled as he informed her of the, understandably limited, menu options. Making her choice from the 'menu', she thanked him again before going to the larger of the two bedrooms and starting to unpack. A day of travelling had worn her down and she desperately wanted a refreshing shower. Fortunately, the place had hot water. Shower, dinner and a good night's sleep in that order; everything else could wait until tomorrow. She would ask Big Mike and Langston to show her around, give her a rundown on what equipment was available, and procure a uniform for her in the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **OK, I did it again. Couldn't help myself, really. And I'll be doing it a lot. Unless I remember to add an appendix at the end with links to the various pieces of equipment, ranks and whatever from that era, you'll have to forever hate me for making you look it up online.

As always, I'd like to thank all of you who read my stuff, and all those who take the time to post a review.

Any mistakes in here are mine and mine only, as I don't want to burden anyone with beta-ing my writings.

Before I forget: Standard disclaimers apply.

Enjoy Chapter 3!

**January 12****th**** 1944, somewhere in the US**

Sarah Walker woke up just before dawn to the annoying ringing of her alarm clock. She was seriously tempted to skewer this one with a knife too, but restrained herself thinking that it would be too much to have to ask her two very capable assistants for a new one. Besides, she was on assignment, so she needed to act professional. She threw back the covers and immediately regretted it as the winter cold caused her body to have a fit of uncontrolled shivering at the sudden temperature change. Throwing a shawl over her shoulders she ran to the bathroom. A few minutes later she was fully dressed in a paratrooper's uniform, right down to the spit shined jump boots. She took the time to sit in front of the mirror and comb her hair before pulling it in a braid. As she left her bedroom she put on a webbing belt complete with a holstered Colt M1911A1 and its magazine pouches before heading to the resort's administration building. The first couple of days had been spent exploring the grounds, examining the obstacle course, firing range, grenade range, explosives training area, armory, boathouse, motor pool, wardrobe and the parachute ground instruction facility, which had been a big surprise, as she certainly did not expect to find something like that. The remaining days, however, had been incredibly boring. At the administration building Langston and Big Mike were sitting at the front desk drinking coffee and talking about baseball. The two men were polar opposites appearance wise. While Big Mike was of somewhat average height and rotund, Langston was huge. At 6'5" he towered over most people and was built like a tank. Still, they were the most effective support team Sarah had ever worked with.

"Good morning gentlemen," she said strolling up to them. They both stood to greet her.

"Good morning Sarah," they chorused.

"Mmmm, what is that smell," she inquired.

"That, dear girl, is… Tell her Mike," said Langston.

"That's the smell of breakfast for our lovely boss. Coffee and pancakes."

"I'll bring it in your office," said Langston, "you also have a message from General Montgomery. He says that the first members of your team will be arriving later today."

"About time. Not that I don't appreciate your company gents, but the inactivity is driving me crazy." She went to the office that she had appropriated for herself and sat down behind her desk. Langston came in with her breakfast and gave her a rundown on the pickup arrangements for the expected arrivals. Sarah thanked him and started on her breakfast while reading the newspaper that Big Mike had the forethought to get for her.

**Burbank, CA**

"When are we going to see you again, little brother?" Ellie asked as Chuck slammed the trunk of Devon's car closed.

"Depends on how things will be at work, Ellie. But looks like I'll be gone at least a month, maybe even two or three."

"Call from time to time, will you?"

"El, babe, Chuck will be fine. Stop worrying," interrupted Devon.

"She's my big sister, Captain. Worrying about me is her baseline." Both men laughed at that, despite a not too pleased look from Ellie. Chuck then hugged his sister goodbye and got in the car with Devon.

Chuck spent the ride to the airfield quietly contemplating the new orders that he had received. It vexed him that he could not discuss the matter with his sister, but the need for secrecy had been stressed repeatedly during his earlier appointment at a Federal building in downtown Los Angeles.

**Los Angeles CA**

Major Casey was grateful that he did not have to go back to Camp Pendleton to get his new orders. A courier had arrived the previous day with a sealed envelope for him and instructions to destroy most of the documents inside after reading his orders and travel plans. The week he had been able to spend with his family had refreshed him considerably and he looked at the upcoming assignment with renewed optimism. He said his goodbyes to Kathleen and Alex before heading to the nearest Army air base, as instructed. There, he boarded a war weary P-47C fighter that had been converted to a two seat trainer and hack. The old ex-fighter's mighty Double Wasp engine roared as it raced down the runway and got airborne heading east.

Meanwhile at the Lockheed Burbank plant, a certain Chuck Bartowski was squeezing himself into the navigator's station of the XF-5D prototype. He had just thanked Captain Awesome for telling him about this aircraft. It had then been a simple matter to suggest to those shady government types that he met the other day that he could fly to his destination in it, since speed was of the essence and this baby could easily top 400 mph, although the cruising speed was somewhat lower. The twin boom aircraft took off soon after Casey's Thunderbolt and headed in the same direction.

**Somewhere in the US**

The P-47 touched down on a small dirt airstrip just over six hours after taking off from Los Angeles. The pilot had kept the speed well over 350 mph and even with the refueling stops they still made excellent time. Casey thanked the pilot, gathered his things and jumped down on the ground. As soon as he was safely away the plane rolled to the end of the runway and took off again. He was met by Big Mike, who, after the customary introductions, drove him to the resort/base and dropped him off at the administration building. Big Mike only told him that Casey's second in command had arrived a few days earlier and would be expecting him in the manager's office. As he walked down the corridor, Casey realized that he hadn't even asked Big Mike about his deputy's name. All he knew was that it would be an experienced OSS agent. He knocked on the door of his office as a matter of courtesy so as not to startle whoever was in there and entered. It was then when he saw the young blonde who looked up at him from where she was arranging some files. She got up, smiled thinly and introduced herself.

"Hello. You must be Major Casey. I am Agent Sarah Walker of the OSS, your second in command," she said extending her hand. Casey shook it and was surprised by her firm grip. Nothing girly about it. Still, he was in turmoil regarding his subordinate; a spy, bad; a woman, worse; a woman spy with an attitude like what he expected, absolute nightmare. He mumbled a greeting and decided to go all businesslike in order to evaluate her and determine how he would handle her from now on.

"So, Agent Walker," he began, "what's the status of the operation as of now?"

"We are still awaiting the arrival of the remaining team members. Mr. Tucker and Mr. Graham, Big Mike and Langston that is, are finished with the accommodation arrangements and have prepared the grounds for a training course. Equipment wise, we have just about everything we need, plus what we don't have they can get," she said and Casey grunted in reply.

"Major," she continued, "I have to ask you a question. I can see that you are a combat veteran, but I need to know if you are parachute qualified."

"I am. Got my jump wings back in '41 before I was transferred to the 2nd Marine Division. What about you Agent Walker? I see that you are wearing an Army paratrooper uniform, but are you indeed parachute qualified?"

"Yes, Major, I am. In fact, I was trained by the Army. I earned the right to wear my jump boots. Also, you can call me Sarah, or just Walker. I know the whole spy business is new to you and, frankly, the special operations thing is new to me. So, we have to work together and teach each other what we need to succeed in our mission."

"OK then, Walker. Just call me Casey. Right now, I need some coffee."

"I'll tell Big Mike to get a pot brewing in the mess. And then we'll see about getting you a cottage."

"As a matter of fact Walker, I prefer to bunk in right here. There must be an empty office that I can use."

"Sure. There is the adjoining one that should do just fine. My office is next door as well."

"Excellent. What about communications?"

"We have telephone, radio and teleprinter contact with Washington. Langston is the operator."

Casey took everything the blonde said in. She was efficient, no doubt about that. He thought that this business might just not be as screwed up as he first thought. Sarah was also thinking about Casey; the man was a decorated veteran, a warrior to boot. And although he was in his late forties he looked very fit. She wouldn't need to turn the facility into a nursing home; the thought made her chuckle a bit.

"Casey? Would you like a tour of the grounds? Take a look at your new command?"

"Sure, why not? The coffee can wait." At that moment there was a knock on the door. It was Langston.

"Excuse me Sarah, Major; I just got off the horn with HQ. There is another arrival pending. ETA approximately forty-five minutes, an hour tops, depending on weather conditions. Should I tell Mike to be on standby to get him from the airstrip?"

"You do that, Langston, thanks for the heads-up," said Casey.

"C'mon, Casey, I've got a jeep outside. Time for the grand tour. We'll be back in about twenty minutes."

"You'll be driving?"

"Yep."

*grunt*

"What? You have a problem with women driving?"

"Let's just say that most women drivers I know, my wife being a prime example, make me want to kiss the ground every time I get out of the car." Sarah laughed at the comment.

"I think you'll be perfectly safe with me Casey," she said.

"*grunt* Oh, how I hope so," he said with a smirk.

Sarah took Casey to every place Big Mike had showed her on her second day there. The Marine Major was certainly impressed with what he saw. It was a most efficient operation, first-rate and he told her in so many words. She felt a surge of pride on behalf of the OSS and gave Casey a dazzling smile. Smiling, he wiggled his ring finger in front of her, letting her know that he was married and thus off the market; they both shared a laugh. Light hearted situations like that were great for building team spirit and they knew it. It was a good omen for their partnership. The tour over, Casey took the jeep and drove them back to the administration building, after a stop at the mess to get some coffee and sandwiches. They end up in his office, going over some files, trusting Big Mike and Langston to deal with the expected new arrival.

"Shouldn't there be an inventory for the ammo that goes with the German weapons we have here?" asked Casey before finishing his sandwich.

"Well, if it's not here it must be in my office. Would you like me to go get it?"

His reply was a grunt that she interpreted as 'please do'.

"I'll be right back." Sarah went to the door and, as she opened it, turned around to say something to Casey. She never got the chance for she walked right into a tall man who did not see her because he was busy trying to find the office he wanted to go to in the darkened corridor. Sarah yelped as she fell backwards, her buttocks and left hand taking the brunt of the fall. The man stumbled back two steps but did not fall. Recovering quickly, he held out his hand to help Sarah up. She took it and noticed that he was surprisingly strong for his gangly frame.

"I'm sorry, miss, I should be more careful," he said apologetically.

"I am at fault too, Mr.…" she said, massaging her left wrist.

"Uh, Bartowski. Chuck Bartowski," the man replied nervously and stuck out his hand.

"Sarah Walker," she said taking the proffered hand in a firm handshake and for the first time her bright blue eyes met his mahogany brown eyes, "this is Major John Casey, our commanding officer," she nodded in Casey's direction, "welcome to The Castle, Mr. Bartowski."

"Ms. Walker, Sir," Chuck said respectfully and moved to shake Casey's hand. The handshake was completed with a Casey grunt.

"No need for much formality here, Bartowski," said Casey, "this is not exactly a military unit, plus you are a civilian, obviously. You can call her Walker, or just Sarah, and me Casey. Now that we are done with the introductions, tell me, are you with the OSS?"

"Me? Uh, no Maj- Casey. I just work for the government as an engineer. Oh, and call me Chuck."

"Engineer, huh? Showing us how to blow stuff up engineer?"

"No, I'm not that kind of engineer. My field is electrical engineering; radio location, communications and the like. I work with radars mostly."

Casey grunted. This could be interesting; he remembered reading about Operation Biting, the Bruneval Raid that took place in early 1942, when the Brits had raided a German radar installation in France and made off with key components of a Würzburg radar for study and analysis. Maybe his unit would be tasked with a similar operation. He smiled inwardly at the thought.

"Chuck, did Big Mike help you get settled down?" asked Sarah.

"Sure, sure. He gave me a nice little cottage and told me that I'll soon have a roommate too."

"That's great," she said, "any idea as to what we'll be doing?"

"You don't know? Because I certainly do not either. I was just ordered to report here post haste. I guess we're just gonna have to wait to find out."

"OK, Bartowski," said Casey, "Walker and I have some more things to go over. You just head for the mess and get some chow. Welcome aboard and… dismissed." Chuck exited the office leaving the other two to work. Besides, the sandwiches and beer Big Mike said that would be waiting for him in the mess sounded like a good deal.

**Occupied France**

Four people were hidden in the woods just outside the perimeter of the airfield; the two men kept a wary lookout, their Sten guns at the ready. One of the women, a redhead, was preparing a camera, while the brunette eyed the modified Chenillette UE as it clanked by on its routine patrol, the businesslike barrels of two machineguns poking from its armored superstructure. The girl's fingers brushed the cold steel of her Schmeisser MP38 and her nervousness eased somewhat. She turned to her companion.

"How much longer?" she asked in slightly accented French.

"Patience, Ilsa, I just got the camera ready."

"I'm bored."

"So am I. But we'll have to wait."

The roar of aircraft engines interrupted their conversation. The women looked up. The redhead smiled thinly. It was one of the aircraft that they needed to photograph. She worked the camera quickly, taking three snapshots before the grey aircraft disappeared from view. She hoped that the shutter speed was fast enough to capture the details required by her superiors.

They did the same for the rest of the day. Every time a Ju 88 night fighter appeared they photographed it. They also took pictures of the airfield and its defenses. Just before dusk the four left their hiding place and moved stealthily further into the woods, back towards the redhead's home. There, the rolls of film would be packed in waterproof containers and picked up soon afterwards by a RAF Lysander III SCW special missions aircraft, as arranged.

**Berlin, Germany**

Standartenführer Keller waited patiently for Von Roark to speak. Finally, Von Roark looked up.

"This is your final selection for your unit, Standartenführer Keller?" he asked.

"Jawohl, Herr Gruppenführer, they are the best."

"What about this Shaw character?"

"Sturmbannführer Shaw has lived in America for many years. His family is from Prussia and immigrated to the United States before the Great War. They changed their name to Shaw before just America entered that war, but they remained good Germans. Sturmbannführer Shaw's loyalty to the Party and the Fatherland is unquestionable. His performance with the Waffen SS on the Eastern Front has been stellar, Herr Gruppenführer."

"Very well. And Obersturmbannführer Stromberg?"

"He was born in what once was German South West Africa, Herr Gruppenführer. Studied at Oxford University between the wars and speaks excellent English with a British accent. He is also well versed in English customs."

"I see. And Obersturmführer Mauser?"

"American born, moved back to the Reich in 1935. A good German by all accounts. Basically, all the men selected for operation Fulcrum have lived for a long time either in England or in America. Therefore, they speak the language fluently and are familiar with the cultural particularities of these countries."

"Excellent work Standartenführer Keller. We'll go over the rest of the files later. I think you said that you had some other news for me."

"Jawohl, Herr Gruppenführer. It is my sad duty to report that my secretary, Fräulein Wolf, an SS-Haupthelfer of the Helferinnenkorps is missing and presumed killed in last night's British raid."

"Most unfortunate, Standartenführer Keller. I'll assign you a new secretary as soon as possible."

"Danke sehr, Herr Gruppenführer."

"I suggest that we take a break, Standartenführer," Von Roark said, "we'll continue with the Operation Fulcrum personnel files later."

"Zu befehl, Herr Gruppenführer."

**Kiel, Germany**

Fräulein Wolf was certainly not dead. It was just fortunate that it appeared she was. Now, she had a new name. She was Ingrid Hansen, Swedish national, or that's who she was according to her passport and other documents. Of course, that was not her real name either. She was calm and collected as she boarded the ship that would take her to Sweden. Going through passport control had been easy; the OSS provided excellent forgeries. Soon, she would report to the US embassy in Stockholm and from there it would be an easy matter to arrange a flight to Britain on a BOAC Mosquito. Once there, she would take a transatlantic flight back to the US for immediate debriefing.

**Berlin, Germany**

The break over, Von Roark returned to his office with Keller. Together, they went over the rest of the personnel files for Operation Fulcrum. Also approved by Von Roark were Oberscharführer Hugo Schultz, Scharführer Rafael Gruber and Untersturmführer Vincent Schmitt. Keller noted that Schultz was also known as 'Der Panzer' for his build and prowess in close quarters combat, that Gruber was an experienced sniper who had been trained in Zossen and that Schmitt had gone by the name Smith while living in the US and had been in the bootleg booze business during the Prohibition. The meeting ended with Von Roark wishing Keller good luck on his mission. Keller thanked his superior and stated that training would start the next day at an isolated chateau in France, which was conveniently located away from prying eyes and close to a Luftwaffe airfield.

**Occupied France**

Ilsa paced the kitchen of the rural farmhouse nervously. She was always worried about her friend, especially when she went to establish radio contact with London. Not that there was much to be concerned with. German presence in the area was rather limited, and the two women had made sure that there was nothing compromising in the house. To all appearances the place was occupied only by a young widow and her maid. The Germans had made only one visit there and were obviously convinced that the residents were harmless and had no connections with the Resistance. Still, Ilsa was tremendously relieved when her partner returned.

"Carina, it was about time you got here," she said.

"Relax Ilsa, it was nothing this time," Carina said, "Piece of cake, actually," she added in English.

"How did it go?"

"Fine. The package made it back safely."

"Great. Are you hungry?"

"I'm starving."

"I made some quiche. Had to keep myself busy while you were out."

"Good for me. You know I can't cook worth sour grapes."

"Aren't you tired of using that lame excuse to make me do all the cooking?"

"Not really," Carina smirked.

"It seems that I have to let you starve for a few days. We'll then see if you are going to cook or not. Anyway, did we get any new 'requests' from London?"

"No. We are to receive new orders in a few days. No transmissions in the meantime."

"I see. Come on now, let's eat. I'm hungry too."

**January 1****3****th**** 1944, somewhere in the US**

The morning had seen two new arrivals at The Castle, as the secret OSS training camp was now known. Both of them had just entered Casey's office to report for duty. One of them was a handsome young man who wore an Army uniform with the stripes of a Staff Sergeant and the blue and yellow Ranger lozenge. The other man, in his forties, balding with wisps of graying red hair still clinging to his scalp, wore the uniform of a US Navy Petty Officer.

The Army guy saluted smartly and said "Staff Sergeant Bryce Larkin, 4th Ranger Battalion, reporting for duty, sir!"

"At ease, Sergeant," said Casey, "hand your orders to Walker here." As Larkin gave the envelope to Sarah, Casey noted the distasteful look he gave her when he saw her jump boots. He made a mental note to tell Larkin that Sarah was a qualified paratrooper. He could not afford to have his second in command second-guessed.

"And what about you?" Casey asked the sailor.

"Uh, Petty Officer Jeff Barnes, US Naval Reserve, sir," the man slurred. Casey grunted. Sarah gave him Barnes' envelope and he read that the man was supposed to be the coxswain for the Higgins LCP (R) landing craft currently moored inside the boathouse. Sarah was apparently thinking the same thing as Casey; Barnes was obviously unsuitable for combat duty. They would just keep him in the boat and hope for the best, if they had to take him along in an actual operation. Otherwise, they would employ him only during the training phase.

"Dismissed, Mr. Barnes," Casey said. "Report to Mr. Tucker for your accommodation arrangements. And, Sergeant, I'd like a moment with you. Alone please." Jeff and Sarah left the office.

"Sergeant, is there something you don't like about this assignment?" asked Casey. Before Bryce had a chance to answer, Casey did it for him. "It's Walker, right? Let me tell you Sergeant Larkin, Walker is a fully qualified paratrooper. She has every right to wear her jump boots. And you will follow her orders to the letter, is that clear?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Now, tell me, have you seen any action?"

"Yes sir. In Italy, sir, specifically in the invasion of Sicily."

"Noted. I see from your file that you speak German too."

"Yes, sir, my father is a diplomat with the State Department. I lived in Germany for a few years while my father was assigned there."

'That will be all, Sergeant. Dismissed." Bryce saluted and left to go find Big Mike. As he exited the office, Langston entered.

"Major, I just got word from Washington that the British and French members of your unit will be arriving tomorrow morning. Also, General Montgomery will be coming tomorrow afternoon to brief you on your mission," he said.

"Thank you Langston. Is there anything else?"

"No Major. Everything is under control." With that, Langston left to go back to the communications room.

In the meantime, Big Mike had told Chuck that he would be sharing his cottage with Bryce, and had given Jeff another cottage. Jeff would get a roommate tomorrow.

"So, Bryce," began Chuck, "how did you end up here? I mean, did you sign up for this or …"

"Heh, hell no, Chuck. Someone must have read my file and noticed that I speak German, with a Bavarian accent I might add. In addition, I'm a Ranger. Which I guess makes me suited for that kind of thing. I was asked about it and I volunteered. What about you?"

"Me? Frankly Bryce, I don't know why I'm here. Why they sent me here. I mean, I'm just an engineer who works in radar systems development. I can barely understand some French, and my German is limited to technical terms."

"Hey, cheer up Chuck. You are here, aren't you? This by itself means that _they _believe that you can be even more useful here than just doing your normal job."

"Thanks Bryce. I guess."

"No problem, Chuck. Oh, I've been meaning to ask you… I feel I've seen you somewhere before. So, if you can put up with my questions: A. Where are you from, B. Do you have any military background and C. Where did you go to school?"

"I don't mind answering, Bryce. Here goes: I'm from Encino, California, but I live in Burbank now. I have no military background. I went to Stanford."

"Stanford! That's where I know you from! I went to Stanford too."

"You did? Wait, I think I remember something… No way… It was YOU?"

"Me what Chuck?"

"Don't you remember? After the game with Harvard on our junior year? At the bar…"

"Holy shit!"

"Exactly."

"Oh man, I could never forget the hangover the next morning. And we still had to go to class…"

"You've changed, Bryce. I didn't recognize you until you mentioned Stanford."

"You've changed too Chuck. It's the war, man… It's worn us both down."

"Yes, it did," Chuck said sadly, "luckily it'll soon be over – I hope."

"I think that we should change the subject. You've seen that cutie hanging around the Major's office?"

"Sarah? I mean Agent Walker? She's Casey's second in command. One of the best agents in the OSS, from what I've been told by Big Mike and Langston."

"She's a beauty."

"Yes. Yes, she is. But she's also a whole lot more than that. You want my advice? Don't underestimate her. Respect her."

"I'll keep that in mind. Now, how about a nice hot cup of joe in the mess?"

"I'll take you up on that. Let's go. I bet we can get Big Mike to spike it with some brandy, too."

"What are we waiting for then Chuck? Move it!"


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **I see that you enjoyed the previous chapters. Well, they were fun to write and a welcome distraction for me too. Many thanks for encouraging me to continue.

That said, let me add that disclaimers are the same as for the previous chapters.

Without further ado, Chapter 4!

**January 14****th**** 1944, Occupied France**

"I don't like this."

"What don't you like?"

"There is too much traffic around here today."

"Care to be more specific, Ilsa?" Carina asked irritably.

"Since about three in the morning, many Krauts have been going back and forth between the airfield and the chateau."

"That's interesting."

"Yes. Most of the trucks, except maybe one or two, apparently unloaded there and returned to their base. And the disturbing fact is that the vehicles that stayed there all had SS plates." When Ilsa said that, Carina sat up in her bed. She was no longer angry at Ilsa for waking her up at this ungodly hour.

"What is the SS doing here?"

"I don't know. And it scares me. These bastards are the worst."

"I don't think they are after us. Or the Maquis, for what the matter. The Resistance keeps a low profile in the area for now. It must be something bigger. How many people do you think stayed at the chateau?"

"About ten that were riding in staff cars. Maybe another twenty to twenty five from the trucks."

"Hmmm… The plot thickens. We should contact my boss and see what his people can make of it. I'll send a report tonight. In the meantime, we should try to find out more in town. Ask our contacts about it." Carina got up and started getting dressed. Ilsa started pacing the room again. Carina took a Gitane from a pack on the nightstand and lit up. She idly watched the smoke curl as it drifted towards the ceiling, thinking about the implications of the early morning events. Her superiors would definitely be interested. She decided to visit Louis, the grocer, who happened to be one of her most trusted informants, later and see if he had anything to tell her.

**The Castle**

It had snowed heavily during the night. Without snow ploughs and rollers, the airstrip would be unusable for a while. Yet, the sea was calm and the remaining members of the unit could easily come by seaplane, thought Casey. He called Langston and told him to inform Washington. That would mean a certain delay, of a few hours at least, depending on how fast the plans would be changed and how long it would take to fly from Patuxent River to the Castle. Casey guessed it would be until about noon. There was a knock on his office door.

"Come in!" he said. Sarah entered the office carrying two steaming mugs of coffee.

"Good morning Casey. Coffee? Black and bitter, just as you like it," she said, holding up one of the mugs.

"Good morning Walker. Thanks for the coffee," he said, accepting the mug and taking a sip of the hot black liquid.

"Nice weather we got today. Makes one want to go out and make a snowman."

"I see you are in a playful mood today, Walker. The bad news is that the airstrip is unusable. Washington is informed, so they'll be sending our people here on a flying boat."

"The sea is certainly calm enough."

"Yeah. That's not what I'm worried about, though."

"Barnes. You are worried about that idiot."

"Yes. He's the one who's supposed to be the coxswain of our landing craft, which we will have to use to make sure there's no debris in the water so the seaplane can land and get the new guys to shore. But he's a drunken fool, too. I'm telling you, Walker, if I could, I'd send him right back where the OSS geniuses found him."

"Drunken fool notwithstanding, according to his file he's an excellent helmsman and mechanic. Not that it's any form of comfort."

"He's good at his job _when he's sober._"

"Or when he has the promise of drink. Fuck, Casey, what are we gonna do with him?" It was the first time that Casey had heard the blonde swear, although they had to deal with some situations that merited cussing in the short time they had been partners.

"Send Big Mike and Larkin with him. He'll need a crew to maneuver the LCP to the plane and pick up our guys."

"Now, that's a good and workable idea, Casey. I'll get right on it." She stormed from the office to the mess to find Big Mike and Bryce. She was halfway down the corridor when Langston Graham came out of the communications room, a message slip in his hands.

"Hello Sarah. Just got a message from Washington. General Montgomery will not be able to come here today; maybe he'll be here in a few days, they weren't too clear on that. Anyway, the orders say that your unit is to commence training for special operations as soon as the new guys are settled down."

"Thank you Langston. Please inform Major Casey of the developments."

"I was on my way to his office."

"OK. Have you seen Big Mike?"

"He's either in the mess or in the storage shed."

"Thanks again Langston."

"You're welcome, Sarah."

**Occupied France**

"… You are members of the Ring Abteilung because you are the best of the best. And the success of Operation Fulcrum will ensure the continuation of the Reich for the next thousand years at the very least! Führer und Vaterland! Heil Hitler!

"Heil Hitler!" echoed a chorus of voices in the chateau's spacious dining hall.

"From now on," continued Keller, switching to English, "only English will be spoken here. You will remember being who you were when you lived in England or America. You will wear the enemy's uniforms, at least within these walls. You have studied the enemy soldiers' mannerisms and you will emulate them. Your entertainment will be limited to what the enemy does for recreation. You will learn to use enemy weapons. From now on you are men of the SS, loyal soldiers of the Fatherland and the Reich, men who took a holy oath of loyalty to the Führer only in your hearts. Outwardly you are to _become_ the enemy. The success of this undertaking you are about to embark on hinges on that. You may well hold the future of the Reich in your hands. Do you understand?"

"Sir, yes sir!" the answer came in the form of another chorus that would be repeated after every one of Keller's questions.

"Are you ready?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

"Can you do it?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

Keller moved to one of the men standing stiffly at attention before him. "You," he said, "who are you?"

"Second Lieutenant Vincent Smith, First Infantry Division, Sir!" answered the man.

"Very well, Lieutenant Smith. And you?" he asked another man.

"Major Daniel Shaw, Eighty-Second Airborne Division, Sir!"

"What's your unit?"

"507th Parachute Infantry Regiment, Sir!"

"Excellent. This is how it's done from now on."

At the nearby airfield, Luftwaffe Major Wilhelm Rechenberg and Oberleutnant Hans Günther dropped down the Junkers' crew access hatch and waited for their radar operator to exit the aircraft as well. Together, the three approached the spot where Dr. Busgang stood waiting, as the ground crew started giving the grey aircraft some well deserved tender loving care. One of the technicians had exchanged a few words with the crew and moved towards the tail with a can of paint, a stencil and a brush; he started painting a new set of small vertical bars on the fin. The smiles on the men's faces told the scientist all he needed to know.

"How many?" he asked the fliers.

"Five verdammt Englanders down without breaking a sweat, Herr Doctor," answered Rechenberg.

"And that was despite us being late in joining the party," Günther chimed in

"The equipment performed as expected?" The question was directed to the radar operator.

"Quite so, Herr Doctor. The calibration was good and it only got fickle twice. Nothing I could not fix. A little better cooling would be desirable though."

"Thank you gentlemen. The results of the initial stage of the operational testing phase have exceeded my expectations. As soon as the aircraft is serviced, we will return to the main base. A few new components were sent over for the new radar to replace some that did not prove to be as durable as originally anticipated."

"Herr Doctor?"

"Yes, Herr Oberleutnant?"

"There is one more thing; it has more to do with crew efficiency rather than equipment performance."

"I'm listening."

"With all the equipment inside, we think that it might be prudent to have a four man crew, at least in the production version. If the Herr Major is correct, Junkers are working on a four seat variant. An additional crewman will ease the workload on the systems operators. The three of us occasionally had difficulty monitoring all of the systems."

"You are all in agreement about this?" The three Luftwaffe men nodded. "Your opinion will certainly be taken into account," said Busgang.

Rechenberg and Günther decided to take a stroll for a smoke and small talk. Emil, their radar operator, simply got in their Kubelwagen and promptly fell asleep.

"What's with that transport there? I did not see it yesterday," said Günther.

"It arrived just before we took off. I saw a bunch of SS guys disembark from it. They gave me the creeps, Oberleutnant."

"Those bastards have that effect on everyone, Herr Major."

**The Castle**

In combat things were expected to go wrong and for the most part did. It was the rule rather than the exception and thus had to be expected. In a garrison environment, however, and the Castle was close enough to being just that, things going wrong _had_ to be the exception. And it usually was just one or two things. Mistakes during training until things were finally learnt to be done correctly, yes, these were expected too. But fuckups caused by insubordination, sheer incompetence, inebriation, or a combination of the above tended to make Major John Casey's temper very short. Especially if said fuckups were the doing of only one individual. And that day the list was long and started early.

It all began when one Jeff Barnes was AWOL from the morning roll call. He showed up an hour later, offering no explanation as to his whereabouts.

A short while later, Sarah came eye to eye with a ferret in her office; that particular ferret was named Roscoe and just happened to be the pet of Jeff Barnes, who had forgotten its cage door open.

Strike three was when Jeff Barnes attempted to fill the Higgins boat's fuel tank. He was about to use gasoline instead of the specified diesel fuel. Luckily, Big Mike informed him that this particular boat had a Grey Marine diesel and not a Hall-Scott gasoline engine before he started the fueling process. Still, a fuel spill in the boathouse was not avoided.

After that was cleaned up, Jeff struck again; this time he loaded one of the machineguns mounted on the LCP and 'test fired' it into the sea. The sound of gunfire had everybody rushing to the boathouse to see what was wrong. The scene inside the boathouse was the straw that broke the camel's back. In short, Casey's patience, already worn thin, ran out. Not only were empty beer bottles scattered around, but Jeff had made a mess of the ammunition locker for the landing craft's guns, the inside of the craft itself was littered with spent ammo casings, but the final touch was the fact that the LCP now had a name. Freshly painted on the stern, in bright red calligraphic lettering was the name 'Loretta'. Casey was so furious that he looked like he was about to tie an anchor around Jeff's neck and throw him into the sea, which he might have done, had Big Mike and Langston not stepped in between the Major and the idiot. Sarah was also considering trying to physically restrain the her CO from killing the drunken fool and went so far as to place her hand on his arm, although she wasn't certain that, even with her martial arts training, she could ever hope to stop a towering, hulking 230 pound Marine Corps issue killing machine who had probably killed katana wielding samurais with his bare hands. It took Casey several deep breaths and some growling before he could calm down sufficiently for him to speak, his eyes still bulging, the veins and muscles of his neck taut and his face red with anger.

"Barnes, you fat, drunk, stupid imbecile, you have exactly half an hour to police up the craft, the boathouse and paint that fucking name over. The only reason I won't kill you right now is the amount of paperwork this action would generate. And I hate paperwork. GET CRACKING!" said Casey.

"Um, sir, I will tidy up the place, but I can't change the name. It's bad luck," Jeff said dumbly.

"I didn't ask you to change the name, idiot, I want you to erase it altogether! Wipe it off with turpentine! And that's a direct fucking order!"

"It's still bad luck, Major, sir."

"Come on, Casey, it's all gonna be OK," said Sarah in a soothing tone. She steered Casey out of the boathouse and gave a meaningful look to Big Mike and Langston. They both nodded. They understood that she wanted them to make sure the boathouse and the craft were cleaned up. The name might stay on, but at least most of the mess would be sorted out.

"Casey, if it's any comfort, I too wanted to end him right then and there. But we can't," she said.

Eventually, everything was squared away. Well, mostly, as the LCP (R) was still named 'Loretta'. But it did now float serenely in the spick and span boathouse with a full tank – of diesel fuel, not gas – waiting to be taken out for a spin. Sarah had managed to calm Casey down with the help of a large bourbon straight up and a beer chaser.

It was after a quiet lunch at the mess when word came that the aircraft with the new guys was approaching. Everyone scrambled to ensure a safe arrival. At Sarah's suggestion Chuck went to the radio room with Langston just in case. Casey ordered Big Mike and Bryce to go with Jeff and man the boathooks and padded poles needed to keep a safe distance between the plane and the landing craft. The PBY-5A made a perfect water landing and the Higgins boat chugged up to it and took the passengers and their luggage to shore, as the aircraft turned into the wind and took off again.

Chuck was still in the radio room, helping Langston repair the radio which had broken down just after the Catalina took off, when the three newly arrived men reported to Casey and Sarah outside the boathouse. One was a tall British officer with a green beret which bore a badge with a winged dagger and the legend 'Who Dares Wins'. The other British soldier was obviously of Indian descent and the last man was short, bearded and wore a French uniform with a white kepi. The officer, a lieutenant judging from the two stars ('pips' the British called them) on his shoulders, saluted, palm facing outwards in the British fashion and spoke first.

"Lieutenant Cole Barker, Special Air Service, sir!" He pronounced his rank 'leftenant', as all British did. Casey returned the salute and moved on to the next man in line. The soldier also saluted, British-style.

"Private Lester Patel, Royal Artillery, sir!" He was not nearly as snappy as the officer, and he was rather slouched. Casey shot an inquiring glance about Patel at Lieutenant Barker, who rolled his eyes upwards in reply. Sarah did not miss the exchange. _Great, another idiot like Barnes… I'll put the two together in the same cottage, _she thought letting out an exasperated sigh. Casey scowled and went over to the last man. He saluted smartly, much like the British salute in style, but slightly different.

"Sergeant Morgan Grimes, French Foreign Legion, sir!" Casey returned the salute.

"You are an American, Sergeant Grimes?"

"Yes sir, joined the Legion in March of 1940."

"Any combat experience?"

"Yes, sir, in North Africa."

"Bir Hakeim?"

"From there all the way to Tunis, sir."

"What's with the beard, Sergeant?"

"For the Legion Sapeurs, um, combat engineers, it's a tradition, sir. A good one, since I had it before I joined up."

"Very well, Sergeant. Walker here will assign you to your billets. Carry on."

As they all started making their way to the cottages, Chuck stepped out of the administration building, after fixing the radio.

"Casey," he said, "the radio is all fixed now and… Morgan?" He was stunned to see his best friend in front of him.

"Well, fuck me… Chuck? What are you doing here?"

"Same thing as you, little buddy!" he said pulling the shorter man up into a brotherly hug.

"You two know each other?" asked Sarah.

"Since we were six, Sarah," answered Chuck, "we're practically brothers."

"Small world," she said in amazement.

The billeting assignments had been finalized. Chuck was already sharing his cottage with Bryce, Jeff had Lester as a roommate, and Morgan now bunked in with Cole. Sarah still had her cottage all to herself, Casey still slept in an empty office and Big Mike and Langston had the resort's employee quarters all to themselves. Chuck and Morgan would have preferred to be roommates, but they did not want to force Bryce to move out. The two old friends took a table at the mess to talk over a few beers and fill each other up on the events of the past few years that they had been apart. Morgan confessed that he and Anna had attempted to start a romantic relationship, but decided they were too good friends for them to take that step and risk ruining everything, so it would be better if they just remained good friends as before. They had kept it a secret so as not to disappoint anyone. Chuck told him that they had all suspected an intimate relationship between Morgan and Anna and he admitted to being surprised that this was not actually the case.

The next few days progressed normally. In the Team Intersect case, normally meant training, training and more training, with the occasional, mostly harmless SNAFU by Jeff and Lester that did nothing more than elicit a chewing out from Casey. There was a good reason for that. Casey and Sarah decided to keep the two miscreants out of the way by simply assigning them both exclusively to the landing craft and nothing else. Especially after Lester had somehow managed to damage an expensive piece of equipment that he was supposed to know how to handle, thus proving himself unfit for the team. They weren't even allowed to touch the two Browning M1919A4 .30 caliber machineguns mounted on the craft's Scarff rings under pain of a very slow and agonizing death.

Of the rest, it was Chuck that fared the worst. He was not out of shape, but simply could not yet begin to keep up with the others who were far more used to grueling physical exercise than him. Morgan was by his side all the way, helping him through the obstacle course. By the third day of their training, Chuck started making better time. He was still a bit clumsy, but he was trying really hard. The worst part for him was at the firing range. He had never touched a firearm before, so he had even more difficulty reaching a standard that would even be remotely considered acceptable. The fact that he found the thought of having to shoot to kill abhorrent did not make it any easier. He mastered the technical stuff of field stripping and reassembling the weapons easily enough, but he was hopeless when actually firing them. No amount of coaxing and coaching from Morgan or Casey's insults were of any help. Sarah had been observing him and the girl in her even began to like him, as the agent part of her personality begrudgingly admitted to herself. Chuck Bartowski was the perfect gentleman, always shy but gallant around her and never resentful for having to take orders from a woman. Furthermore, although she had caught him giving her fond looks at times when he thought she was not watching, he never tried to hit on her, unlike Cole and Bryce who attempted to make both subtle (but definite) and overt advances, only to be coldly rebuffed. Perhaps it was this nascent but growing fondness she found for Chuck that compelled her to try and help him. She also felt that she owed him, as he had repaired her radio in her cottage the previous day. So, when the team gathered at the firing range, she went straight to him.

"Chuck, would you like me to try and help you with that?" she asked.

"Thanks, Sarah, but I'm beginning to think that you'll be wasting your time with me. Even Morgan can't help."

"Would you mind me giving it a shot?"

"If you insist. I can't deny you anything." She felt her whole body growing hot in reaction to his innocent and completely sincere reply. She could see it in his eyes that he was honest with her. She only hoped that she wasn't blushing. Somehow, he must have sensed her discomfort, however fleeting, and quickly added "I have to follow orders from you and Casey, after all."

"It's okay, Chuck. Tell me, have you ever hunted?"

"No."

"Ever shot a gun at a funfair?"

"Yes, quite a few times, in fact."

"Good. This is what I want you to do: Pretend that this is a shooting gallery at a funfair. I'm standing next to you, and you want to win the prize for me. Can you do that, Chuck?"

"I- I guess I can try, Sarah."

"Fire away." Chuck brought the M1 carbine to his shoulder, took careful aim and pulled the trigger once. This time he did not flinch. He did not want to disappoint Sarah. Unlike Casey, she had already shown him considerable understanding. He corrected his aim a bit and fired again. Aim-fire-correct-fire. He soon emptied the 15-round magazine, but kept the weapon pointing downrange. Casey gave the order to clear and safety the weapons. Chuck executed the appropriate actions and moved to examine his target, Sarah following behind him. To his surprise and relief several of the 15 rounds he had fired had hit the target. He turned to thank Sarah and saw that she had a wide smile on her face. She even gave him a congratulatory pat on the back. He smiled back.

"Not bad, moron, keep it up like this and I might make a warrior out of you yet." Casey's semi-ironic comment brought him back to reality. Sarah silently indicated that she wanted a word with Casey in private.

"He's improving Casey," Sarah said when the two of them were out of earshot, "and he's trying really hard. Don't forget he's a civilian. He's an engineer, not a soldier or an agent. Cut him some slack."

"Don't get me wrong Walker, he's a good kid. But he needs to learn some things and be able to do them if he's to survive on a mission. And unless I'm satisfied that he won't endanger himself, or the rest of the team, I'll be on his case like flies on a cow pie." Sarah did not reply. She could see that Casey had a point. But that only reinforced her decision to help Chuck with his training to the best of her abilities.

**January 18****th**** 1944, Washington DC**

"This is a very serious development. Yes, sir, I'm fully aware of that. No, unfortunately we do not have anyone available yet. Sir, I know that Major Reisman's squad completed its last assignment without losing a single man, but I think you haven't heard the news. They had an accident. Some stupid Limey caused a taxiing accident as they were about to take off for home. No fatalities, but most of them, including Major Reisman, ended up in hospital mending broken bones. I have a team working up, but they are still in training. Yes sir. I'll keep you informed sir." General Montgomery replaced the telephone handset on its cradle and rubbed his temples.

"Trouble, Roan?" asked Mrs. Beckman, bringing him a cup of coffee.

"Nothing unusual, Diane. Get me Major Casey's progress reports please. And the Sandstorm debriefing file too."

"Are you retasking Team Intersect?"

"Hmmm, I may have to give them an additional objective. They might be able to handle both."

"Wouldn't that be dangerous?"

"The game we play is dangerous, Diane. But we have no choice. I'll brief them personally. Please make the necessary travel arrangements for tomorrow."

"I'll take care of it, Roan."

**The Castle**

The day had been different from the others. Casey and Sarah had decided to commence parachute training for those that were not already qualified. Which meant that Chuck, Bryce, and Morgan would have to be introduced to the basics of jumping out of a plane by Casey, Sarah and Cole. Having three instructors for three trainees made it easier. And even Chuck thought that ground instruction was fun, almost like a playground. It did not yet occur to him that eventually he would have to actually make his first jump. The best part was not having Jeff and Lester around, the duo having been banned from most training activities by Casey. They had stayed at their cottage, the 'Maison Jeffster', as Morgan had aptly named the lair of the two miscreants. Nobody really cared what they were doing in there, but they did hear music playing as they piled on the Dodge to go to the parachute instruction facility. The morning's training activities were followed by a light lunch at the mess. Big Mike's cooking skills once again had all stomachs fully sated. The only hiccup was when Jeff and Lester decided to entertain the assembled Project Intersect Team. Their performance, Jeff playing the guitar and Lester singing 'My Darling Clementine', had almost everyone cringing and covering their ears in a futile attempt to escape the cacophony of Jeffster. Big Mike singled out Lester's singing for some criticism and proclaimed it a 'vocal felony'. Chuck knew that he had to do something to restore the mood to its previous level. He got up from his seat and said something to Big Mike who nodded enthusiastically. Then, with the trademark Bartowski smile on his face, approached Sarah and simply asked her to sing something.

"Excuse me? Chuck, are you serious? Me, sing?" she said in reply.

"Why not? You have a lovely voice. Trust me, I know."

"Do you now, Mr. Bartowski?" Her playful tone was more for the benefit of Bryce and Cole, so that they would realize she was not interested in either of them, or so she told herself.

"Come on. I've heard you singing a couple of times when you were alone in your cottage and I was passing by outside," he whispered in her ear. Aloud, he said "You can do it. Please, for all of us."

"OK, fine. What do you want to hear?"

"How about Lili Marleen, _in German_," Cole challenged her.

"You're on, buster," she said, taking Chuck's proffered hand and allowing him to guide her to the Hoffman piano where Big Mike was already sitting ready to play. He pleasantly surprised her when he put his hands on her waist and hoisted her up quite effortlessly on to the piano. She smiled, leaned a bit backwards, a hand on the lid and crossed her legs.

"Let 'er rip, Mike," called Chuck and Big Mike started playing. Then Sarah started singing in a throaty voice.

"_Vor der Kaserne, _

_Vor dem großen Tor,_

_Stand eine Laterne_

_Und steht sie noch davor._

_So woll'n wir uns da wiederseh'n,_

_Bei der Laterne woll'n wir steh'n,_

_Wie einst, Lili Marleen._

_Unsere beiden Schatten_

_Sah'n wie einer aus,_

_Daß wir so lieb uns hatten,_

_Daß sah man gleich daraus._

_Und alle Leute soll'n es seh'n,_

_Wenn wir bei der Laterne steh'n,_

_Wie einst, Lili Marleen._"

Everyone just sat there, enraptured, taking in Sarah's magnificent performance. Even though she was wearing her paratrooper's fatigues, it was easy for the men's minds to picture her in Marlene Dietrich's skimpy outfit from the 'Blue Angel'. When she finished the song, it took the men a moment to wipe the dreamy expressions from their faces before rewarding her with a standing ovation. She actually blushed as Chuck helped her back down from the piano to the floor where she stood and bowed gracefully to her now wildly cheering audience.

The afternoon was devoted to small unit tactics, both in theory and practice. For the night Casey had scheduled an amphibious landing exercise. Everyone would go in full combat gear, faces blackened and weapons locked and loaded. Just after dark, the entire team boarded the LCP and Jeff took it out to sea. For once he seemed to be functioning with the required efficiency.

Lester looked sick at one point and threw up over the side before he eventually got used to the pitching and rolling of the shallow draft vessel. Langston stayed behind to monitor the communications, while Big Mike played the role of the reception committee on the beach, signaling for them to come in with a hooded light using a prearranged code. Jeff gunned the engine on Casey's command and the craft sped towards the beach.

Before the keel grounded on the sandy bottom, everyone discarded their life jackets and tensed, staying clear of the ramp. It was eerily quiet, the sound of the specially muffled engine being just a muted throb, the loudest sounds being the wind and the pounding of the sea on the hull. The landing craft grounded, the ramp came down with a splash and Morgan hit the beach on the run, followed by Casey, Bryce, Cole and Chuck. Sarah was the last to disembark. As she ran down the ramp, Lester signaled the all clear to Jeff, a tad too early. As the ramp jerked and started coming back up, Sarah lost her footing on the slippery wet surface and fell into the sea.

The LCP backed out as she got up on her feet, dripping wet and furious, but somehow having managed to keep her Thompson M1A1 dry. She ran quickly to where the others had fanned out, and took a prone position on the right. They all stayed there for a minute, weapons at the ready, senses alert for any hostile contact (the simulation of which Casey might have arranged to make things more interesting). Chuck suddenly heard an unusual clicking sound. It seemed to be coming from behind him and to the right. He risked a look. There was nothing there but Sarah. Without getting up, he slithered over the sand to her and discovered that the clicking was actually her teeth chattering violently. He was shocked to see that she was soaked through and shivering uncontrollably. He could not see it in the dark and under her camouflage face paint, but he could swear that she was turning blue in the cold night. Chuck did not hesitate; he moved over to Casey and quietly, but urgently, explained the situation to him. Casey motioned everyone to move to the cover of some rocks further up the beach and establish a defensive perimeter. He hurriedly explained that the exercise would continue, minus a 'casualty' and an 'attendant'. Chuck would take Sarah back post haste and get her warm.

By that time, Sarah was so cold that she could barely move. Chuck took a folded blanket from his pack and wrapped it around her. He then picked her up and ran to where Big Mike was waiting in the jeep. Fortunately the tilt was up, shielding the driver and passengers from the cold air. The moment they arrived at Sarah's cottage, Chuck took her straight to the bathroom and held her, still fully clothed, under the shower. He turned the water on, making it warmer gradually, so as not to induce rewarming shock. When it was hot enough, he continued to support her as the color started returning to her face. Apologizing profusely in advance, he started removing her soaked clothing, until she was standing in just her underwear. All the while he was rubbing her back, shoulders, arms and legs to get her circulation running again.

"Chuck?" she managed to say.

"How are you feeling now, Sarah?" he asked the concern evident on him.

"Bet- better, I guess."

"Good. Stay here for a while. I'll leave you a towel and your bathrobe here and go get you some dry clothes." He made off towards her room. Sarah turned the water off, shimmied out of her wet underwear and slipped into her bathrobe. Toweling herself dry, she paused to grab a change of clothes from Chuck's outstretched arm that poked into the bathroom through the slightly open door. She was both impressed and amused with how chivalrous and shy he could be at the same time. She emerged from the bathroom in her flannel pajamas a minute later, definitely looking better. Chuck immediately threw a warm blanket around her and guided her to the living room, where a fire was roaring in the fireplace. He sat her down by the fireplace and started rubbing her back again. She closed her eyes, savoring the heat of the fire and the warmth from Chuck's back rub.

"Big Mike's gonna bring you some hot chocolate," he said.

"That would be nice," she replied leaning into him as he stood by her side.

"What happened, Sarah?"

"I… I was going down the ramp when it started coming back up and I slipped and fell."

"Those idiots, Jeff and Lester. It was all their doing. Has to be," he said, anger creeping in his voice.

"Chuck, don't worry about them. Thank you. For everything you did for me tonight."  
"Shhh… Don't mention it. None of us would let you freeze to death out there."

A few minutes later there was a knock on the door and Chuck went to answer it. He returned carrying a pot of hot chocolate and two mugs. He poured them both some, gave her a mug, pulled up a chair and sat next to her.

"Would you like me to go get you something stronger, Sarah?"

"Over there," she said, pointing to a corner of the living room. Chuck went to look and found a bottle of Four Roses bourbon. He poured a generous measure into her hot chocolate.

"You certainly have a taste for good bourbon, Sarah."

"Well, yeah, you see, we agents tend to condition ourselves to sleep light. After some time it becomes second nature. So, a glass of that before going to bed helps me enjoy a better sleep when not actually in the field."

"I'll keep that in mind." He sensed that someone was at the door before he heard the knock and got up to answer it. Sarah leaned back in her seat, wiggling her toes in front of the fire and clasping her hands more tightly around the mug she was holding before taking another sip of her hot drink. Chuck returned to the living room with Casey. The Major wanted to check up on her. He was evidently relieved to see that she was doing fine, and promised that he would deal with the Jeffster fools in the morning when Chuck told him how Sarah ended up in the drink in the first place. He then wished them both goodnight before turning to leave. Chuck stopped him and motioned that he wanted to talk to Casey in private. They both stepped out on the porch.

"Before you start, Bartowski, let me tell you that you did a good job preventing hypothermia. Now, what is it that you want?"

"Look, Casey, tonight we were lucky. But I think we'll need a doctor around. I have some basic knowledge of first aid, and no doubt you and most of the others have some practical experience. But we still need a real doctor."

"You are right, Bartowski. Especially when we start the more difficult parts of parachute ground instruction and then the jumps… I'll request a doctor from DC tomorrow."

"I can recommend you a doctor. I think he'd love to come here."

"Who?"

"Captain Awesome."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Sorry, Casey, I just call him that. I meant Captain Devon Woodcomb, USAAF flight surgeon. He's my future brother in law."

"Is he good?"

"He's one of the best. He's also the outdoorsy type, you know, hiking, mountaineering and stuff. He's even got a pilot's license. Plus, he's really bored in Burbank, stuck in a third-line unit."

"I'll forward that to Washington. I think we can use him, if he's as good as you say he is."

"OK. Goodnight Casey"

"G'night Bartowski."

Chuck went back inside the cottage. Sarah was still sitting by the fire.

"Is there anything else you'd like me to get for you?" he asked.

"No thanks Chuck. Everything is fine."

"How are you feeling now?"

"Great."

"Good. Stay here. I'll go clean up the mess in the bathroom."

"Chuck, you don't have to do that."

"It's nothing. No trouble, really. I'll be back before you know it."

He quickly mopped up the floor and strained the water out of Sarah's wet clothes before putting them in the laundry basket, before he rejoined her.

"See? Didn't take long. Now, let's get you in bed."

"You really took good care of me tonight Chuck; but there is no need for that."

"My sister and her boyfriend are both doctors. I'm not doing anything they wouldn't have done."

He guided her to her room and made sure she was tucked in and warm. He told her that if she felt ill, she could call him. He was staying right next door, after all. He brushed a strand of golden hair off her forehead, also making sure that she wasn't running a fever and wished her goodnight before turning to leave.

"Chuck?"

"Yes, Sarah?"

"Did I thank you for tonight?"

"Yes, you did."

"Thanks again!"

"You are welcome. Now, try to get some sleep."

Before she fell asleep, Sarah found herself wondering what was happening to her, why she felt so strange every time she was near Chuck Bartowski in the last couple of days. She had never felt that way in her entire life. And that feeling was only getting stronger. What was it? Why did only he have that effect on her? Why… She never finished the thought as she entered dreamland…

**A/N (2): **As per readers' suggestions, I split the longest paragraphs to make it easier to read.

And I hope you picked up the _Dirty Dozen_ reference (Maj. Reisman) and the shower references to _Chuck vs The Fat Lady_ and _The North Sea Hijack_.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Time for chapter 5.

Had I not warned him, Foxmac would be gunning for my hide from this chapter on. Nah, he'll probably be itching to do just that anyway. Fear not, purists and nitpickers, the reason for the anachronisms and various technical/historical inaccuracies will be revealed in all its glory in the end.

For disclaimers, see previous chapter.

You guys are all awesome. Thanks for the reviews and all the feedback.

**January 19****th**** 1944, The Castle**

"Bartowski, where the hell is Walker?"

"You are asking me, Casey? I don't have the foggiest."

"Didn't you spend the night with her?" Casey's question caused Bryce and Cole to look at Chuck with a mix of admiration and envy. Morgan just smiled.

"No, no. I just made sure she was OK and went back to my place."

"Then get the hell over to her cottage and see what's keeping her. Move it, Bartowski!"

Chuck ran over to Sarah's cottage. Letting himself in, he paused at her bedroom door and knocked. No reply. He looked in the other rooms and came up empty. He knocked again on the bedroom door. Silence. He opened it and peeked inside. There was a lump under the covers.

"Sarah," he said quietly.

No sound, save for a very light, almost inaudible, snore.

"Sarah," he repeated, raising his voice a little.

"Hrrrmmmph."

"Sarah, wake up."

"Grrrhrrrmmmph."

"Agent Walker," he said more loudly.

"Grrrrrr." It was a very ladylike growl, kind of funny, too. He smiled.

"Walker, wake up," he said in his best Casey imitation.

The next couple of seconds were a blur. Something looking like a wild mane of blonde hair popped up, a dark object swished by his head, a dull thump came from his left and the blonde mane disappeared back under the covers. He looked at the doorjamb. A commando dagger was stuck in the wood, less than a foot from his head. He yanked it out, shook his head, moved over to the bed and sat on the edge. Putting the dagger down on the nightstand, he gently shook Sarah's shoulder.

"Wake up, Sarah. Please."

"A hand appeared and pulled down the covers, exposing a head. Sarah opened one eye and eyed him suspiciously.

"What?" she said sleepily.

"You gotta get up. Morning roll call. You are late."

"It's too early," she complained.

"No it isn't." His reply caused her to open the other eye as well. A look at the time confirmed his words. She had forgotten to set the alarm clock last night.

"Oh, crap!" She bolted upright.

"Good morning Sarah." He was smiling now.

"Good morning Chuck." She smiled too, as she half-yawned and stretched with feline grace.

"You feeling OK?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. And I'm really sorry for throwing the dagger at you. Near you, I mean. Now please get out. I gotta get dressed," she said shoving him off her bed.

"OK. Nice bed head, by the way," he said referring to her tousled hair.

"GET OUT!" She threw a pillow at him, which he easily ducked.

"As you wish, your Majesty." He gave her a deep bow.

"OUT!"

Chuck beat a hasty retreat, for she now had her dagger back within easy reach and who knows how many other weapons as well. He did not want to tempt the fates too much.

"Well?" Casey asked.

"She'll be right over," replied Chuck. Casey just grunted. It took just a couple of minutes for Sarah to appear.

"Good morning, everyone, sorry I'm late," she said.

"Now that we are all here, I'd like to inform you that General Montgomery will be arriving shortly to brief us on our mission. So the morning training activities will have to wait. You have exactly an hour to go get some breakfast and then tidy up the mess. Barnes and Patel, I want you to be on your best behavior today. Otherwise, you'll regret it. I'll have a talk with you two about last night's SNAFU later. Dismissed," said Casey and led the way to the mess.

Breakfast passed in companionable silence. Sarah took a table with Chuck and Morgan. Casey, Bryce and Cole sat at another. Jeff and Lester were by themselves in a corner. Once the tables were cleared away, most of the members of Team Intersect huddled together in their small groups to discuss possible scenarios about the upcoming mission. The Jeffster duo just started playing a pointless game of flipping coins at an ashtray.

"So, Chuck, any ideas about our mission?" asked Morgan.

"No clues buddy. Sarah might know something though," he replied looking at her.

"I'm flattered Chuck, but I really have no idea myself. Casey though seems to think that we may be assigned to raid a German radar facility, or something along those lines."

"How come?"

"You are an engineer whose field is radar development. It makes perfect sense if we had to dismantle one in a hurry and take the key components."

"It makes sense, Chuck," admitted Morgan.

They talked for a while longer, eventually changing the subject. A few minutes later, the door to the mess opened.

"General on deck!" bellowed Casey. Everyone scrambled to attention. Even Chuck. General Montgomery entered the room, followed by his ever present shadow Diane Beckman, Big Mike, Langston, a pretty bespectacled brunette and a tired looking man wearing the uniform of a United States Army Air Forces Captain. _Devon,_ realized Chuck. Morgan also recognized him and his eyes widened in surprise. The General and his entourage moved to the stage at the far wall. Casey moved up and saluted. Montgomery returned the salute.

"As you were, ladies and gentlemen," said the General. They all returned to their seats and he took the podium, before he continued.

"First of all, I'd like to say that I'm particularly impressed with what you've accomplished here in such a short time, despite the occasional hiccup." He was looking straight at Jeff when he said that. "I came here today to brief you on your missions. Yes, I said missions, because you'll have to undertake two simultaneously. I know it's highly unorthodox, but then again in this business normal procedure must sometimes take a back seat. You may take notes, if you like."

Many of the people in the room produced notepads and pencils. Mrs. Beckman went to help Big Mike and Langston set up a projector. Devon and the brunette remained seated at a table. Then the General began the briefing in earnest.

"First order of business. At least some of you may be aware that perhaps the most efficient arm of the Luftwaffe is the Nachtjagdwaffe, the night fighter force. We estimate that it constitutes approximately 15% of the entire front line strength. So far the British are the ones that had to deal with it. It has been a technological tug of war and at this stage the Germans appear to have the upper hand again. RAF bomber losses are climbing to prohibitive levels, after a reprieve in mid to late 1943."

"Excuse me sir, but what do the British woes have to do with us?" asked Casey.

"Major, the night sky is a field for technological warfare at its finest, as Mr. Bartowski here will undoubtedly confirm. Our main concern, however, is the implications for the upcoming invasion of Europe."

Casey's furrowed his brow and then raised his eyebrows in understanding and nodded.

"I understand, General," he said.

"Good. I'll explain further. The airborne forces will be the vanguard of the invasion. We are talking about a minimum of three divisions. Two of which are American. And the first drops will take place under cover of darkness. I suppose I don't have to describe the carnage that would ensue if the enemy night fighters got through to the transports, in addition to the inevitable flak. Even with our own night fighters escorting them, they are much more vulnerable than the bombers already being hacked down in droves over Europe. In addition, these very bombers are essential in the softening up of the enemy defenses in preparation for the invasion. Between the USAAF and the RAF bombing round the clock, the enemy will not get any worthwhile reprieve."

"And what exactly do you want us to do, General?" asked Chuck.

"Mr. Bartowski, what do you know about German night fighter tactics?"

"Sir, what we know is that the fighters are vectored to the bomber stream by ground control, eventually using their onboard radar to hunt for targets, engaging when they acquire visual contact. Much like our own tactics."

"Exactly. And why are British countermeasures currently ineffective?"

"Because, sir, Window, which consists of paper backed metal strips released in bundles into the airstream and creating a radar echo similar to an aircraft, works best when cut to half the wavelength of the radar it is to spoof. Apparently, the Germans have new radars operating at different wavelengths thus rendering Window ineffective. Plus, German radars can be tuned to a range of frequencies, making them difficult to jam electronically."

"That's what I've been told too, Mr. Bartowski. Your mission will be to acquire, by any means necessary, key components of the new German air intercept radar, or, if possible, an entire unit."

"Excuse me General," said Cole, "you expect us to raid a bloody airfield inside Nazi bleeding Germany, just rip a radar unit off an aircraft and be on our merry way home?"

"I'd suggest that you go for an airfield in occupied France, but you get the general idea, Lieutenant."

"Bugger," Cole muttered under his breath.

"Or we could steal an entire aircraft," mused Devon, aloud.

"What was that, Captain?"

"Um, nothing General, just thinking aloud."

"No, I think it's an excellent idea. If you somehow manage to slip in undetected and hijack a plane, the Germans will just assume it crashed when it fails to return."

"We'd still need a pilot for that scheme to succeed, sir," commented Sarah.

"We have one, Walker. Bartowski told me that Captain Woodcomb is a pilot," said Casey.

"Whoa there, Major, sir, I only have a prewar CAA-approved license. I can fly light aircraft and that's it. I have no training in high performance aircraft at all."

"That's not a problem, Captain. We'll just send you for an advanced training crash course. You'll also learn to fly a German aircraft there," said Montgomery. Mrs. Beckman made a note of it in her papers.

"Phew, sir, that's… Well, it's a bit mind boggling, sir. Definitely outside normal military routine."

"Welcome to the spy world, Devon," quipped Chuck. That statement had everyone laughing.

Montgomery coughed and cleared his throat to get everyone's attention back.

"As I was saying, it would be easier to steal a German night fighter from an airfield in occupied France. The main bases are in Belgium, France and Holland, but there are several alternative airfields, where the fighters can land to refuel and rearm before going up again, returning to the main bases in the morning. We have determined that the chances of success are greater if you try an auxiliary field. Many of these are not very heavily guarded. Our staff in DC has prepared a selection of possible targets for you. Lights, please."

The lights were turned off, the blinds closed and the projector turned on. Aerial and ground photographs of various Luftwaffe airfields were shown at first. Then came photographs of German night fighters taking off and landing. They were a mixed bag; Messerschmitt Bf 110s, Junkers Ju 88s, Dornier Do 217s, all festooned with insect-like radar antenna arrays. Picture after picture clicked on the screen.

"Wait!" Chuck exclaimed suddenly.

"What is it, Chuck?" asked Langston from behind the projector.

"Go back a couple of pictures, please."

Langston obliged and a photo of a Junkers Ju 88C series night fighter filled the screen.

"This one is not a standard aircraft," said Chuck.

"Are you sure, Mr. Bartowski?"

"Yes, General, I'm sure." Chuck stood and picked up a long pointer before moving to the side of the screen.

"As you can see," continued Chuck indicating areas of interest with his pointer, "this aircraft has the new and now standard antenna arrays. But that's where the similarity with a standard Ju 88C ends. The armament has been relocated from the nose to a ventral gondola. Undoubtedly so as not to blind the pilot when the guns are fired. You may also notice that the offset gondola under the nose, a remnant of the original bomber configuration, is no longer there. In addition, the nose cap is not the same, being longer and of different shape than that of a standard C-model."

"Very observant of you Mr. Bartowski."

"Thank you sir. Finally, the aircraft codes, JS + CF, do not correspond to any known front line unit. It is therefore my considered belief that this aircraft is a prototype, or a test bed used for operational testing of new equipment."

"Impressive."

"Is that all Chuck?" asked Sarah.

"No, I saved the worst for last. I already mentioned the nose cap. General, I think that new nose cap is dielectric and houses a centimetric waveband radar antenna. The currently standard radar is still carried, but most likely as a backup only."

"Are you sure, Mr. Bartowski?" Montgomery asked as the implications of Chuck's statement began to sink in.

"There is no other explanation sir."

"How did the Krauts develop such a radar so quickly? Until recently they believed that such short wavelengths were impossible to achieve." This was true, but obviously someone had forgotten to tell the General a few things about radars and their innards.

"General, many of the bombers that the RAF has lost over enemy territory were equipped with the H2S navigation and bombing radar, which is a centimetric radar system. It is perfectly reasonable to assume that the Germans recovered enough undamaged components to enable them to examine and, to an extent, copy this radar, thus producing their own centimetric radar. If you like, you can check with the MIT Radiation Laboratory and the TRE liaison. I believe they will support my opinion."

"Mrs. Beckman, where was this photograph taken?" asked the General. Mrs. Beckman looked in her files and told him the location. Apparently, the answer pleased the General.

"Well, we got a lucky break. It appears that the location is ideal for both your missions. Before we come to it, I have an announcement to make and then we will take a short break. Major Casey," said Montgomery and Casey rose from his seat.

"Yes, sir?"

"I was contacted by the office of the Marine Corps Commandant yesterday. Something about you. It just so happens that the Corps asked me to help them correct an oversight of theirs. Therefore, it is my pleasure to announce that you are hereby promoted to full Colonel, by order of the USMC Commandant. I would like to present you with your eagles now, Colonel," Montgomery said to a speechless Casey.

"Room! Ten-hut!" bellowed Devon, as the third ranking officer present. They all rose and stood at attention as Casey moved on to the stage and Montgomery pinned the new rank insignia on his uniform. An exchange of salutes and handshakes between Casey and Montgomery later, all the members of Team Intersect applauded and cheered as Big Mike gave Casey a new helmet that had a Colonel's eagle painted on the front.

The General left to confer with Casey in private, while the others enjoyed the break. Devon went over to Chuck and Morgan.

"Hello there little man," he told Morgan.

"Hello Devon. It's been a long time," Morgan said shaking Devon's hand.

"We have some catching up to do. And what's with the French insignia?"

"Right, you couldn't have known. I'm a Legionnaire."

"Legionnaire, as in French Foreign Legion?"

"Yep." Before Morgan could continue, Sarah spoke.

"I think it's amazing that you guys all know each other."

"It's an incredible coincidence, at least as Morgan's presence is concerned," admitted Chuck.

"And Captain Woodcomb?"

"It's kinda my fault he's here. Yesterday evening, I talked to Casey and convinced him that we need a doctor here. I just recommended Devon, who just happens to be my future brother in law."

"I did not yet propose to Ellie, Chuck."

"You will, my friend, you will. You two love each other so much, it's just a matter of time. And, Devon, they got you here very quickly."

"Yeah. Who'd expect that? I got a call saying that I was being transferred and had to hurry to pack and meet some Army guy who came to pick me up. Next thing I know, I'm here."

"Devon, Sarah here is the second in command. She's also an OSS agent. She'll show you the infirmary and assign you a billet."

"The infirmary will do just fine, Chuck."

"Are you sure, Devon?"

"It's the only option, anyway. The completed cottages are already occupied. The others were still unfinished when we entered the war and construction work stopped. They are not habitable," interjected Sarah. Devon just smiled and nodded.

For the rest of the break they made some small talk, Morgan promising to tell Devon all about his globetrotting days that ended with him enlisting in the French Foreign Legion later.

In the meantime, Bryce had cornered the brunette that had come to the Castle with General Montgomery and was chatting her up at the bar. Sarah smiled, knowing that now she had one annoying suitor off her back, as the girl apparently liked Bryce. _Now all I need is find Cole a girl, _she thought.

General Montgomery and Casey returned to the big room after their private conference. Everyone stood at attention until Montgomery waved them down.

"Ladies and gentlemen," began the General, "it's time to start the briefing on your second mission. It is a fortunate coincidence that your first objective is located really close to the second. We have recently received information that a special operations team of the SD is based at a French chateau close to the target airfield. At this point, allow me to introduce Agent Jill Roberts. During her time in Germany she infiltrated the Sicherheitsdienst and worked close to an SS Colonel who has assembled a rather unique outfit. Would you like to take it from here, Agent Roberts?"

"Yes, thank you General," replied Jill, "When I was in Berlin, I worked as secretary to a Standartenführer Keller. From what I've been able to ascertain, he works for a special detachment of the SD called the Ring Abteilung, under the command of Gruppenführer Teo Von Roark, a high ranking but secretive SS general officer. Lately there has been a lot of talk about an operation codenamed Fulcrum. I did not manage to gain access to the specifics before having to fake my death and come back for debriefing, but what I've learned is rather worrying. This Keller has lived here in the US for a number of years. The men on his team, whose files I fortunately got the chance to copy, had also resided in the US or England for several years and thus speak the language like natives. No German accents or other compromising slips of the tongue for these people. They are also fanatical Nazis and ruthless killers. The worrying conclusion is that they plan to somehow send their agents disguised as allied personnel to England and then perhaps to the US and undertake espionage and/or sabotage missions."

"Thank you Agent Roberts. You now understand that in addition to stealing the aforementioned night fighter, you are to determine the objective of operation Fulcrum and disrupt the Nazis' plans, if possible. If you can eliminate this Colonel Keller and other members of his staff, the better. I don't have to tell you that any additional intelligence on this so-called Ring detachment will be more than welcome. Agent Roberts will stay here with you for a few days to give you an in-depth briefing on what we know about the Ring and Fulcrum. That will be all for now. Colonel Casey, I'd like to see you and Agent Walker in your office please."

Montgomery, Casey, Sarah and, of course, Beckman went to Casey's office to talk. Morgan and Devon found the chance to resume their earlier discussion and do some catching up. Bryce started flirting with Jill again, while Chuck began jotting down some notes on the mystery German night fighter and his estimates regarding the performance of its new radar. They might need them later.

"Colonel Casey, Agent Walker, let me begin by saying that I'm impressed and very much satisfied with the progress your team has made in such a short time. I recall informing you that you have the discretionary power to disqualify any candidate you feel is not up to your standards. So, do you have anything to tell me?"

"Yes, General," they both said. They looked at each other and Sarah nodded, allowing Casey to continue in deference to his position as her superior.

"General, we, and both Walker and I are in total agreement, have decided that Petty Officer Barnes is useful only as the coxswain of the landing craft, and only marginally at that. Based on what you have told us about the location of our objectives, it is safe to assume that infiltration will be by parachute. We have consciously opted not to give Barnes any parachute related instruction, and therefore we will not have to take him along, which is good, as far as we are concerned. There is also the matter of Private Patel. The man is absolutely useless. Just as bad as Barnes, if not worse, considering that he always seems to try to pull a con of one kind or the other. His only asset is his ability to speak French, but it is not enough to make up for his failings. He has also been excluded from parachute training. The best we can do with him is keep him busy with various small tasks both here and in England when we prepare to deploy. Then we should just send him back to the Brits."

"You agree with all that, Agent Walker?"

"Yes, sir, what Colonel Casey just told you represents my view as well."

"All right then, do what you believe is best. I also expect you to extend every courtesy to Agent Roberts for as long as she'll be here."

"She can move in with me, sir, as I have a cottage all to myself," said Sarah.

"That's settled, then. Roberts' record rivals your own, Agent Walker, despite her having different, more long term, assignments. But she still is one of the best. The mere fact that she's a member of Orion's network speaks volumes."

"Orion? Sir, Orion is just a myth!"

"I can assure you Agent Walker, that Orion is very real. He's been in the game far longer than any of us, myself included. You will be working with another one of his people when you arrive in France."

"That's very interesting, Sir." Sarah noticed the confused look on Casey's face and realized that he did not have a clue about Orion except for the few things he'd just heard. She would explain it to him later. She winked meaningfully at him and he nodded in understanding. He trusted his partner and knew that her unspoken promise was an indication that she trusted him too.

"Colonel, I suppose the two of you can work the necessary briefing sessions with Agent Roberts in your day to day schedule. In addition, I expect you to plan your operation against the airfield and the infiltration of the Ring's chateau."

"Yes sir, we'll do it."

"Good. Diane, give Colonel Casey and Agent Walker the files with the newest information we have so far regarding their mission. You'll find me in the mess when you are done with the paperwork. I just need a drink right now. And, Colonel, please inform my office when you feel that your team is ready to begin the training jumps."

"Yes sir, I will."

"That will be all for now. I'll just go get that drink and then I'll have to head back to DC. Goodbye and good luck, Colonel Casey, Agent Walker." They both stood as the General left and Casey saluted as well. When Mrs. Beckman left the office twenty minutes later, Sarah told Casey everything she knew about the mysterious master spy _and_ spymaster known as Orion. They agreed that it would be good to work with such a well coordinated and professional network. But right now, they would have to get Jill settled down and continue with the training – after Casey had his little chat with Jeff and Lester about paying proper attention to the details of an amphibious operation and about some other things he had in mind to tell them.

**January 22****nd**** 1944, The Castle**

The days following General Montgomery's visit to The Castle had been rather hectic. Training, more training, briefings on the Ring and the known details of Operation Fulcrum by Jill and planning for both stages of the upcoming operation. Soon they could go ahead with the parachute jumps. Chuck, Morgan, Devon and Bryce would be first timers. Sarah, Casey and Cole would only have to brush up their skills a bit. Believing that Chuck had made sufficient progress, Morgan had taken to helping Devon with some aspects of the training. It was not too difficult, as Captain Awesome was very fit and had no trouble adjusting to special operations training. He even found weapons training fascinating and performed well at the range. Sarah, on the other hand, continued to watch over Chuck and help him along as required. She was pleased to see that he was no longer completely helpless and that he was performing at least to the minimum of the required standards, even exceeding them on occasion. Casey too had begun to show the young engineer a modicum of respect. She now liked him more, although she would not admit it even to herself, but she always had that warm and comfortable feeling every time she was near Chuck.

That afternoon Chuck had been called to the communications room and was told that his estimates regarding the new German electronics had been confirmed by other scientists working in the field of radar development and that they appreciated it and any other input he could provide.

Thus it was a happy Chuck that went back to his cottage to get some rest. Almost immediately, he was stumbling out the door mumbling an apology, almost running over Sarah Walker who happened to be walking by studying the contents of a file. He managed to stop in time but he still startled her.

"Chuck, we must really stop meeting like this," she said after recovering from the mild shock of the near collision.

"I'm sorry, Sarah, I was just a bit upset."

"What? Why? Chuck, is everything okay?" She was concerned now. Chuck laughed nervously.

"I'm fine. It's just… I just happened to unwittingly interrupt an, um, _intimate_ conversation between Bryce and Jill. A _very_ intimate conversation." He had blushed and looked really embarrassed. Sarah fought to suppress the urge to laugh. Chuck could be so sweet, especially when he was shy, she thought. Her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of a window opening. She looked up and saw Jill at the window, wearing Bryce's fatigue shirt.

"Hey, Chuck," she said, "sorry about that. We should have taken it to Bryce's room, but we did not expect you back that quickly."

"Never mind, Jill. It's OK. You guys deserve to have a good time." He had sufficiently recovered when he said that.

"Thank you Chuck, you're really a great guy," Jill said smiling. "Sarah, would you mind if we… If we just switched roommates?" she asked Sarah.

"No Jill, not a problem at all. How should we do it?"

"I'll just get my stuff to your place Sarah," Chuck answered for them. "I know you have a spare room I can use. When should I move in?"

"What about now?" asked Sarah.

"That's great. You can come in Chuck, we're decent," said Jill.

"OK. I'll be out of your hair in less than five minutes," said Chuck and went to get his stuff from his room.

Sarah watched as he went in and waited for him to come back out. She couldn't help envying Jill. The brunette's assignment was over and she had now found a well deserved release. Unfortunately Sarah's own assignment had just started and she could not afford the distraction of a romantic relationship, however much a part of her was yearning for it.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Chapter 6 is finally done. I think it turned out a bit too fluffy (for my taste, the jury's still out on what the Charah 'shippers will think), but the real action should begin shortly.

For disclaimers and stuff see previous chapter.

I'm glad you are enjoying the story so far and I hope you'll continue to do so. And I'd like to thank you all again for your kind reviews.

**January 2****4****th**** 1944, Bern, Switzerland**

The room was quiet. Its sole occupant busied himself by reading through a sheaf of documents from the piles that littered his desk. When he finished he set the papers down with a sigh and reached for his typewriter. His fingers started pounding the keys.

'_Operation __Codename: Gorgon_

_Primary __Target: Telefunken AG facility_

_Secondary Target: Dr. H. Busgang, __Codename: Perseus_

_Primary Target Location: …'_

He kept on typing until he had finished a comprehensive report complete with suggestions. Now all he had to do was make sure it would be delivered to Allen Dulles via the US Embassy along with a request for a meeting.

**The Castle**

To her surprise Sarah Walker got out of bed a split second before the alarm clock started ringing. She silenced it and went to the bathroom. A few minutes later she returned to her room to get dressed, feeling refreshed. As she tied the laces of her jump boots she realized that there was no sound coming from Chuck's room. Had he overslept? Her lips twitched upwards into a devilish smile; this was her opportunity to get back at him for the other day's 'Casey Reveille'.

She had something special in store for him. Moving silently to his room, she paused before kicking the door open. And then… nothing. Instead of a startled Chuck complaining about being woken up so rudely, a deathly silence greeted her. The bed was made. His pajamas were hanging in the closet. He must have gotten up earlier. She couldn't help feeling a bit disappointed for missing the opportunity to pull a prank on him.

Descending the stairs, she headed for the door and was about to open it when something caught her eye. She turned and found herself looking at Chuck. He was slumped over the desk, still in his fatigues, head cushioned on his arms, snoring lightly. She moved over to him. A few books and technical manuals lay open on the hard surface, along with a notebook and a sketch pad. She picked the latter up and saw the annotated freehand drawings he had made of the German Junkers night fighter they had been tasked with stealing. More drawings depicted possible configurations of its radar. His notes included estimates on antenna size, operating wavelength and general performance. He had apparently stayed up late compiling all this and fell asleep at the desk.

She leaned on the edge of the desk, just looking at him. Before she even realized what she was doing, her hand reached out to him. It stopped just shy of touching his head. In the end she could not resist twirling one of his curls around a finger and playing with it. _Dammit Walker, you're acting like an infatuated schoolgirl_, she chided herself. _Stop fooling around and wake him up already. You have work to do, _her conscience continued. Reluctantly, she let go of his hair and gently shook his shoulder.

"Chuck… Chuck, wake up." He stirred and opened his eyes. Seeing Sarah brought a smile to his face.

"Sarah… Good morning."

"Good morning Chuck. C'mon, get up. Roll call's in five."

"OK, I'm up," he said pushing his chair back and getting up on his feet.

"What's all this?"

"Nothing. Just some technical stuff I wanted to do."

"I took a look. You are very thorough."

"Thanks. Oh, boy, I'm stiff all over," he said, trying to stretch.

"That's to be expected. You fell asleep in that chair."

"Nothing a hot cup of coffee can't fix. Come on, we mustn't keep Casey waiting."

He led her out of the cottage. On their way to the mess, where all the team gatherings were now taking place, they met Jill and Bryce, who were heading in the same direction arm in arm.

"Don't let Casey see you like this," Chuck teased. They all laughed. Sarah's envy of Jill grew, but she managed to hide it. She wished their positions were reversed, so that she would be able to enjoy some intimacy. Not with Bryce, of course. She had another man in mind.

**Washington DC**

"Diane, could you please come in here?"

"I'll be right over Roan," Mrs. Beckman replied over the intercom. Seconds later she was in her boss' office.

"I just read the latest progress report from Colonel Casey; it seems they are ready to make a few jumps. Please make the necessary arrangements with the Jump School at Ft. Benning and prepare the new orders for Team Intersect."

"Do you want me to call them too?"

"Please do."

**The Castle**

"OK, people, got some news for you. I just got a call from General Montgomery's office. He agrees with me that we have made sufficient progress to proceed with actual parachute jumps. We are to report to Fort Benning tomorrow. Barnes and Patel will stay here. The day's training activities will proceed normally. You'll all have the afternoon free to go to town, have fun and relax. Don't forget to pack for a few days at Jump School. That will be all," Casey said to the assembled members of his unit.

Sarah looked at Chuck. He appeared a bit worried.

"Chuck, what's the matter, talk to me," she said.

"I don't know if I can do it, Sarah. Jump out of a plane. It's kinda scary," he replied.

"Hey Chuckster, don't worry. I'm sure it'll be fun," Devon interjected.

"I can confirm that," she said with a smile. "I had a great time when I went to jump school."

"I trust you, Sarah. If you say we'll be okay, then we will be okay."

**Occupied France**

"Well done, Sergeant Gruber."

"Thank you, Colonel, sir. The Springfield rifle is really easy to master. It's much like the Mauser. Not as good a sniper weapon though," Gruber replied while reloading his M1903A4 sniper rifle.

"Carry on."

"Yes, sir."

Not very far away…

"I can't fucking believe this!"

"What is it this time, Carina?"

"These bastards are wearing American uniforms! Damn, the information we got was correct."

"What are we going to do now?"

"Follow orders, Ilsa."

"And our orders are…"

"Right, I didn't tell you. We are to confirm the location and await a specialized team. That's all London said. And we are to maintain surveillance of the airfield and the security measures there."

**The Castle**

The days training activities had ended with some more practice at the firing range. By now everyone's performance was up to Colonel Casey's standards.

"Well, Bartowski," he said, "you are ready now. You did a good job for a civilian with no military background."

"Thank you Casey. I wouldn't have done it without Morgan and Sarah helping me."

*grunt*

"Come on, Chuck," Sarah said. "We need to change for our evening out."

"Go ahead, I'll be right over."

"Okay. See you at the cottage."

Chuck went to Langston and managed to convince him to give them one of the cars from the motor pool. He wanted this evening to be special. He'd been planning it from the moment Sarah accepted his offer to take her out to dinner. It would be his way to say thank you to Sarah for all the help she'd given him during training.

This task completed, he set off towards his cottage. On the way there he ran into Devon and Morgan. The two had been real close in the past few days. They had not seen each other for years and they had a lot of catching up to do. Just like it was with Chuck when Morgan had first arrived at the Castle.

"Hey, fellas!"

"Chuck, how's it going?" Devon asked.

"Good. Listen, what are your plans for tonight?"

"We were thinking about checking out a bar or two in town."

"Yeah. Wanna join us?" asked Morgan.

"I have made other plans. I'll take Sarah out to dinner and maybe find a place to dance."

"You, dance? You've never done that before, buddy," said Morgan.

"It's a special occasion. Sarah has helped me a lot here. I owe her to try and give her a good time."

"Awesome. She likes you Chuck, I can see it every time she looks at you, which is, well, even more awesome."

"You think so? I mean a girl, no, a _woman_ like her, beautiful, smart, sophisticated, actually likes a guy like me?"

"She does. And why shouldn't she? You are smart, funny, caring, the perfect gentleman. Don't underestimate yourself Chuck. The Captain is right. Otherwise, why would she go into all that trouble of being by your side throughout the course?"

"Because she needs to have all the members of her team in top shape?"

"Nonsense. She could have just disqualified you, like Jeff and Lester."

"Anyway, I managed to wangle a car out of Langston."

"Awesome."

"So, if you guys would like a ride into town…"

"Uh-oh, Chuckster, not awesome. We don't want to ruin it for you two. We'll take the bus with the others," Devon said with conviction. Morgan nodded his agreement.

Chuck got to the cottage he was sharing with Sarah and found that she had already showered. He took a quick shower himself and went to his room. Luckily, there was a good suit in his luggage. Ellie would approve of him wearing it for a date. He smiled at the thought. He changed quickly and, as quietly as he could, left the cottage and headed for the motor pool. Langston had a gleaming blue Buick Century convertible sitting there waiting for him, freshly washed.

"She's ready to roll, Chuck," said Langston.

"Thanks! I owe you one."

"No, you don't. I owed you from when you worked your magic with the radio. So, we're even. Just go have fun. You are a nice guy, Chuck. You deserve it."

"I will. Thanks again," he said, getting in and starting the car.

Sarah thought she had heard Chuck come in. She had definitely heard the water running in the shower. But Chuck was nowhere to be found. He was not in his room, not in the bathroom, not in the living room and certainly not in her room. She then heard a car outside. She went to check and she was very much surprised to see a dapper looking Chuck leaning on the hood. His eyes widened when he saw her. He'd never seen her in civilian clothes, and the outfit she was wearing accentuated her statuesque figure. He snapped out of his stupor and held the door of the car open for her. She gave him a dazzling smile as she got in the car. He then got behind the wheel and drove off towards the nearby town.

"You look great tonight Chuck," she said.

"You look stunning yourself, Sarah," he replied.

"Where did you get the car?"

"I called in a favor with a friend. The same friend who told me about the best places in town."

"You seem to have the evening plans well laid out."

"You are not the only one who's good at planning," he said and winked meaningfully. She laughed. A not too loud, but heartfelt, appreciative laugh. _This means you are doing it right Charles Irving Bartowski,_ he thought. He then remembered what his father would say: _Aces, Charles; you're Aces._

The first place he took her to was the restaurant. It was a nice little place, somewhat colonial in style. He ordered for both of them. Sarah seemed to like a take charge man on a date. The food was excellent, even by wartime standards. The wine complemented the courses very well. Throughout the meal they made small talk. Mostly about their lives before the war. Sarah did not say much, she wasn't accustomed to volunteering information about herself. But what she told him was mostly true. Her father's job had her traveling all over the country, she and her sister had suffered a bad case of sunburn when she was nine years old, she did not know much about music or movies and she somewhat reluctantly admitted that her name was not really Sarah Walker. To his credit, at least as far as she was concerned, Chuck did not press the issue. He simply said that to him she would always be Sarah Walker, the smart, stunningly beautiful super spy. She hoped she wasn't blushing when he said that.

She in turn managed to learn a lot about him. Some of it she knew from his file, but some of the things he told her about him and his family made her feel a lot closer to him. Like her he had grown up without his mother. He did not know what had happened to her, why she had left him and his sister. His father was trying to be there for them, but his job often kept him away. He'd moved to Europe when Chuck was seventeen years old. He and Ellie had had no news from their father for a number of years. Eventually Chuck succeeded in steering the conversation to other, more light hearted, subjects, such as the various places they had been. She'd wanted to visit California, while he'd never been to Washington.

After dinner, he took her to see a movie. She liked it very much. Towards the end she was resting her head on his shoulder, enjoying the proximity. The movie over, he suggested that they take a walk. They were passing near a bar, when they heard the characteristic sounds of a brawl coming from inside. Chuck instinctively moved to shield Sarah with his body, just in case. He'd forgotten that she could really take care of herself in far worse situations than a simple bar fight. Finally, he decided to take her to the other side of the street. They were halfway across when the bar's front window shattered and a man flew out and landed on the street. Chuck and Sarah could only stare wide eyed when they realized that the man was Lester. A few seconds later, another man came flying out, crashing into Lester and knocking him back down on the ground. This time they had a pretty good idea who it might be. Yes, it was Jeff. The two battered and bruised miscreants got up on their feet and scampered off to find another place to continue their drinking. Chuck and Sarah looked at each other and smiled; they both knew that Jeffster would be in for a chewing out by Casey in the morning.

He finally found the nightclub Langston and Big Mike had suggested. Sarah found it much to her liking. Chuck ordered a Southern Comfort for Sarah and a bourbon and beer chaser for himself. She smiled, indicating her approval of his choice of drinks. They savored their drinks in silence for a while. By that time Chuck had summoned the nerve to ask her to dance, only slightly helped by his limited consumption of liquid courage. Fortunately for him, the band played a slow piece so his clumsiness wouldn't show much. Sarah was, naturally, an excellent dancer, but for the moment she was content to let Chuck lead, while she rested her head on his chest and held on to him tight. She felt good in his arms and did not want it to end, for at that moment she did not have a care in the world. She felt warm, safe. So safe that she whispered another real thing about her in his ear. "It's Lisa. My middle name is Lisa," she said holding on to him more tightly. She was a little disappointed when the piece ended and they returned to their table. She was ecstatic when Chuck asked her to dance again a short while later.

Eventually the evening had to end. Over her objections Chuck had paid for everything. She had relented only when he'd tried to convince her that he owed her a good time, as a thank you for her helping him pass the course.

She fell asleep in the car as he drove back to base, a contented smile on her face. Chuck thought that she looked like an angel. He gently woke her up when they arrived at their cottage and held the door for her once again. He then returned the car to the motor pool before retiring to his room to change into his pajamas and pack for Ft. Benning. He went to bed with a happy grin on his face. He'd had a great time and he was sure Sarah thought the same.

**January 25****th**** 1944, Bern, Switzerland**

"I hope you have a good reason for asking to meet me this early in the morning," grumbled Allen Dulles, chief of OSS intelligence gathering operations from inside Germany, who was based in Switzerland.

"Rest assured, Allen, it is important. After all, it was my network that first got wind of Von Roark's operation."

"Is it related to the Ring?"

"Yes. I know there is an operation being planned to take out the Fulcrum team, but we need to cut off the head of the snake too."

"You want to go after this Von Roark."

"In time, yes. Right now, Operation Fulcrum has his undivided attention. The entire Ring Detachment is working for those bastards in that French chateau. I suppose you have made plans in case they manage to get their people to England."

"What kind of plans do you mean, Orion?"

"Double Cross plans."

"You know about this?" hissed Dulles.

"Please, Allen, who do you think I am? I have contacts everywhere. The point is, since our esteemed British allies literally control the flow of information to the Abwehr through the Twenty Committee, they could plant some tantalizing tidbits for our friend Von Roark, who gets his information from Canaris, since the SD does not have a network in England. In effect he will be sending his team right into our hands. We should be able to nab them the minute they set foot in England and before they can do any damage."

"Should we cancel the other operation then?"

"No, most definitely not. We can't afford to sit back and just wait for them. A preemptive strike is the best course of action."

"I understand. And what about your operation Gorgon?"

"I think the RAF would be more than happy to undertake that one," Orion said with a smile. "More coffee. Allen?"

**Ft. Benning, GA.**

The Project Intersect team arrived at Fort Benning shortly before midday. Casey was in a foul mood; he'd had to go to the Sheriff's office at a late hour the night before and pull rank to secure the release of Jeff and Lester who had gotten themselves arrested for a variety of offences. He would have been perfectly content to leave them in jail, but he couldn't risk the drunken idiots blabbing about classified operations to civilians. The rough plane ride to Georgia did not exactly help either. They were picked up by a couple of Army guys in a bus and taken directly to their quarters at the Jump School.

Their presence did not attract much attention; their quarters were a bit isolated and in addition the instructors there must have gotten used to the presence of OSS personnel. In fact a couple of the aforementioned instructors recognized Sarah and greeted her like an old friend. She only had to tell them to call her by her new name. Bryce was impressed and, in private, apologized to Sarah for not believing that she was worthy to wear jump boots when he first met her.

Since about half of them were already qualified and the rest had undergone basic training, the afternoon was spent settling down at their assigned quarters and then the instructors did a quick evaluation of Chuck, Devon, Morgan and Bryce. Once they were satisfied that the four had received adequate ground instruction, all were cleared for the next phase.

**January 26****th****, Ft. Benning, GA**

This morning the excitement was quite obvious in the billets of Team Intersect. The four 'virgins' would get their first taste of a parachute descent from the 249' high drop towers. Chuck informed the others that these towers were modeled after the parachute towers at the 1939 World's Fair in New York. Smiling, he added that he'd missed the opportunity to 'jump' back then; he did not mention that it was Ellie who didn't let him do it and Devon wisely kept quiet.

Chuck managed to convince Sarah to try the tower, just for her to remember old times. All in all, they thoroughly enjoyed the experience. They admitted that Chuck had been right. It was just like an amusement park ride.

The Ft. Benning instructors were once again sufficiently satisfied after a few descents from the towers to permit actual jumps from aircraft. Normally, they would have insisted on some more ground instruction, but time was of the essence, as they had been told. In a short time Casey, Sarah, Chuck, Devon, Morgan, Bryce and Cole were in a C-47 lumbering over Georgia, in full parachute gear. Casey, on account of his experience, would be the jumpmaster. Emotions varied. The already qualified paratroopers were calm and just happy they'd jump again. Devon and Bryce were enthusiastic. Morgan was looking forward to it, but was still a bit nervous. Chuck was also a bit excited, but mostly just plain scared. The tower had been easy; the chute there was being held deployed and there were guide wires all the way to the ground, so it had been perfectly safe. This was different…

"Get ready… Stand up!" yelled Casey when the red light over the door came on. They all stood and got in a line.

"Hook up!" The static lines were hooked to the wire running along the top of the fuselage.

"Equipment check!" The jumpers helped each other with making sure everything was OK.

"Sound off for equipment check!" All reported that their gear had been checked and okayed. They all tensed, one hand holding the static line, to guide it along the wire when the time came to move forward.

The red light went out and the green came on.

"Go, go, go, go!"

Cole launched himself out, feet together, knees bent, in the perfect stance. Bryce followed and then Devon and Morgan also exited the aircraft, with the customary 'Geronimo!' yell. Chuck had been shuffling along behind his best friend, wide eyed, sweat starting to trickle down from his brow. Just short of the door he froze.

"C'mon, idiot, we ain't got all day," shouted Casey. Nothing. "Move it, Bartowski!" still nothing. Sarah, following behind Chuck, decided that drastic measures were necessary; she grabbed Chuck and pulled him to her. Their helmets clanged together a fraction of a second before their lips met. When Sarah ended the quick kiss and let him go, Chuck stumbled back a step, his terrified expression giving place to one of confusion and finally to a goofy grin, which started appearing across his face, all in the space of a second, as he automatically assumed the jump position; and then Casey booted him out of the aircraft. Just before Sarah jumped, she could have sworn that she heard an evilly smirking Casey grunt, even over the throb of the engines and the howl of the wind. That would be a 'good job Walker, never tried it this way but apparently it works' grunt. Then Casey jumped too.

The descent went without a hitch, no doubt due in a large part to the ideal conditions prevailing over the drop zone. Once on the ground, they rolled up their parachutes and piled in a 'Jimmy' (GMC CCKW-353 2.5 ton truck) for the ride back to base. There would be a couple more jumps tomorrow.

After experiencing the first jump, Chuck proceeded to do the rest with increasing confidence. After the third, he actually began to look forward to the next.

Just two days later the jumps were over and there were four more qualified paratroopers standing at attention to receive their jump wings. Casey and Sarah moved from man to man pinning the badge to the graduates' chests according to the new 'blood wings' initiation rite tradition. Chuck was so proud to have completed the course without totally freaking out in the beginning, that he stood ramrod straight as Casey slammed the jump wings on him. Sarah smiled and also pounded on the badge pinned to his fatigue shirt, the pins digging deeper into his flesh. Despite the discomfort, no one complained, for it was regarded as a highly honorable rite of passage.

The flight back to the Castle was fun. Sure, there was some turbulence, but the passengers were too happy to care. They would cherish the experience for the rest of their lives.

Back at the Castle, Big Mike and Langston had prepared a celebration. At one point, while the others were too distracted by another one of Jeff and Lester's hilariously ridiculous attempts to sing, Jill and Bryce quietly slipped away to continue 'celebrating' in the privacy of their cottage.

Chuck once again surprised Sarah by taking her to the beach, where he made a small bonfire on the sand and they just sat on a blanket enjoying a bottle of wine. Not many words were spoken. There was no need for that. The smiles said it all. They were just two friends feeling happy with what they'd managed to accomplish together in a short time. And one of the chief accomplishments, as far as they were concerned, and the one achieved most effortlessly, was their very friendship. Secretly, each one wished they could have more than that. But for now they were OK with what they already had. No one could take that away from them.

Their quiet contemplation was interrupted by a loud crash. Alarmed, they shot to their feet and ran back to the mess to see what happened. And they promptly burst out laughing along with all the others when they saw that the jerry built rig Jeff and Lester had made for their 'performance' had collapsed, the aspiring singer duo ending up on the floor dazed and winded, but otherwise unharmed. The inevitable - and by now eagerly expected (by the others, not Jeff and Lester) - chewing out by Casey was also fun to watch, as Marines could be very imaginative when it came to insults. And Casey was pulling out all stops on his creativity tonight. Tom Highway would have been proud of him.

When the party was finally over, Chuck offered his arm to Sarah and they walked together back to their cottage to get some rest. There was a tactical exercise planned for the following day. And that promised to be exhausting.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N (1):** Chapter 7 finally up! I won't bother with a summary as it's late and I'm tired.

The disclaimers have already been covered, so no need to repeat them – again.

Enjoy the chapter!

**January 29****th**** 1944, the Castle**

Following their return from Ft. Benning, Chuck and Sarah went back to the easy routine they had established early in their cohabitation. Every morning Chuck would go to her room and wake her up, she had asked him to, in order to spare her alarm clock from a horrible fate at her hands. They would go to breakfast together after roll call. They would do a lot of things together during the training sessions. She loved spending time with him and Devon and Morgan, but she preferred it when she was alone with him. She had finally realized that she now had something she'd been missing for a long time: a friend. Someone who would be there for her selflessly, just as she would be there for him. And that friend had led to her making more friends. She liked that and would make the most of it.

Just like the morning after their unforgettable evening in town, Chuck entered her room to wake her up as usual. He smiled as he always did when he saw her. She was sleeping peacefully, like an angel, a halo of flowing blond hair framing her face. He knelt by the bed and gently shook her awake. She opened her eyes and smiled. Her bright smile was by itself something that could make him breeze through even the hardest day. He lingered a bit to make sure she would not fall asleep again and discreetly left her room to allow her to get dressed.

The daily briefing was unexceptional. As they already knew, the team would practice an assault on an enemy held building. The exercise scenario included approach, entry, clearing and intelligence gathering. The only surprise came when Casey announced that Devon would have to report to an AAF unit for intermediate and advanced flight training. It was made clear to him that the course would be compressed to meet the operation's deadlines. Fortunately Devon already had many flight hours under his belt, quite a few of which on aircraft with such modern features (by prewar general aviation standards) as retractable landing gear and the like, the Beech Staggerwing being an example. Therefore, he was told that he'd have a few refresher flights on an AT-6 trainer, both with instructor and solo, followed by multi-engine aircraft training on the AT-11 and finally a number of flights on a captured German Ju 88A-4 bomber brought home from the MTO. Devon packed and left after breakfast.

The exercise kept them busy most of the day, with only a short break for lunch, which consisted of Spam sandwiches and coffee. Casey and Sarah had them all repeat the appropriate actions until the execution became automatic. The grand finale for the day was a brief demonstration of demolition techniques by Morgan and Sarah. He was a trained and experienced sapper, while she had received comprehensive sabotage instruction in the past. Their 'bangs' were simply works of art. Naturally, Casey had to draw his .45 and threaten to use it when Jeff and Lester, who happened to wander by the demolition ground, thought it might be fun to play with explosives. Eventually, they gave the two a single quarter pound block of plastic explosive with a very long fuse and told them to blow up a mockup electrical transformer. To the entire team's surprise they did it without a hitch, but they all had a good laugh later when Sarah tossed a 'Hedy', a firecracker like device intended to mimic the sound of an exploding bomb and thus create confusion and allow agents to easily escape in a crowd, at the two men's feet. The way they tripped over each other as they scrambled for cover was indeed comical. That noisy action spared their ears from another assault by Lester's off-key singing after dinner.

When the dishes were finally cleared away, Sarah asked Chuck if he'd like a walk on the beach. As expected, the answer was yes. They strolled quietly on the sand for a while, Chuck keeping a respectful distance between them at first. It was left up to her to decide if she wanted closer proximity. She did and leaned on him. They had gone some distance from the resort-turned-base when she suddenly wrapped both her arms around his right arm and held him tight. Chuck sensed that she was troubled about something.

"What is it?" he asked softly.

"Sorry?"

"There's something bothering you."

"No, nothing," she said too hurriedly. Her own reaction puzzled her for a moment. It should have been natural for her to deflect the question or automatically answer it with the appropriate lie. Her life had frequently depended on her acting skills. What had gone wrong? Was she losing her touch? She realized with a start that she could lie easily to almost everybody, but she could never lie to Chuck.

"Come on, Sarah, I'm not blind. Talk to me." She sat down on a rock and took a deep breath. Chuck joined her and patiently waited for her to speak.

"Chuck, I told you the other day that I spent most of my childhood traveling across the country with my dad. I never stayed long in one place. This meant that I could not make many friends. Even in Harvard I was too focused on my studies to have time for anything more than passing acquaintances with people. Never real friendships. And the espionage business makes virtually no allowance for friends. You, Chuck, are the only real friend I've had in years. Not only that, but you managed to make your friends mine as well. And now I'm scared, Chuck, scared of losing you. Our mission will be very dangerous, and…"

"Stop. Sarah, please, say no more. I know the risks. Some of them at least. I was given the option of refusing this assignment and I did not take it. I volunteered for this. It's my chance to do something more. To go the extra mile, for my country, my family, my friends, for me, for everything I hold dear. You are the spy, the others are soldiers, and I'm good at what I normally do. Together we can do it. We are a team now. Don't second-guess yourself. I've come a long way, and I have you to thank for a large part of what I've managed to do here. I know you are afraid that you've played a part in making me ready to go in harm's way eventually. But I want to do this. That you have to understand."

Sarah looked at him with misting eyes. She had certainly not expected that. Until that day he had been relying on her for guidance and help. Now she found herself drawing strength from him. His quiet determination, his soothing voice helped quell her fears. She blinked back the tears. She did not want to cry. She did not want to appear weak to him. He suddenly pulled her into a hug. It was warm, reassuring, showing her that he knew she was strong; that it was only natural to have feelings and admit having them. They held each other for a few minutes, before getting up and walking back to their place, the bond between them stronger than ever.

**Occupied France**

"Guy, you were the Count's family doctor for fifteen years. That's why you are here. Right now you are the only person I can turn to for help. So, please, tell me; how well do you know your way around the chateau?"

"Do you know what you are asking me Carina? If you get caught our entire network will be compromised. First they'll go after Ilsa and then they won't stop until they get every last one of us. I simply cannot tell you anything without express approval from the BCRA." Carina got up from her bed and furiously paced around the room. It had been tricky enough to get Dr. LaFleur to come to her place at such a late hour. A German patrol had stopped Ilsa just outside of town, but her papers were in order and she'd managed to convince them that her mistress was ill and she needed to get the doctor. They had insisted on escorting them both to the country house. Carina had been forced to act like she was really ill. Fortunately, the Wehrmacht patrol leader, a Feldwebel, had been a perfect gentleman and just peeked inside her room after knocking and getting permission to enter; seeing a young woman who was apparently in a lot of pain lying in bed, he apologized and wished her well in halting French before uttering a curt 'Aus!' and leading his men out of the house. Ilsa had made sure they were well on their way back to town before giving the all clear.

"Guy," she finally said, "our orders come directly from London."

"Yes, they do. And they do not mention going in that damned chateau and risking everything. We are supposed to wait for the OSS team to arrive." He had called her bluff and she knew it. But she had one more card to play.

"When the team gets here, they'll be pressed for time. We could make it easier for them."

"Easier, how?"

"You could prepare a schematic of the chateau, with points of entry and egress, any secret passages that you know of. I'm sure the Count has not told the Boches about any such things when they forced him to move out."

"I'll tell you what, Carina. I will make the schematics. But I will not give them to you. I will personally hand them over to the team leader when they arrive." Carina had no choice but to accept. The good doctor had, however, inadvertently confirmed the existence of at least one secret passage or in any case a way to get in and out of the chateau undetected.

Ilsa saw Dr. LaFleur to the door and returned to Carina's room. Noticing the satisfied look on her friend's face, she realized what she'd been thinking.

"Carina, no," she said firmly, "you can't try to find the passage on your own. We can't risk you blowing the whole operation." Carina realized that Ilsa had a point and slowly nodded.

**January 30****th**** 1944, the Castle**

The mess had been turned into an operations briefing room this morning. Big Mike and Langston had set up some boards and photographs and maps of the targets had been pinned to them. Casey began the briefing by giving them al rundown on strengths and dispositions of the German forces guarding the airfield and the chateau. Getting in the airfield would be easy; the garrison there had settled into a routine, predictable and the security measures were not very difficult to bypass. The chateau was another story. It was guarded by a platoon of elite Waffen-SS Panzergrenadiers and its relatively small perimeter was easily covered. It would be quite a challenge to infiltrate it. They were too few to go in with guns blazing and they did not want to involve the Resistance too much. Casey had agreed with Sarah on that. It was something they would have to work on later, but a report from the local contact saying that there might be a secret passage into the chateau had given them a glimmer of hope.

Chuck stole a glance at Sarah. She was diligently taking notes and fielding questions, back to being her usual confident self. Casey finished speaking and lit one of his Costa Gravan cigars before he adjourned the meeting in time for lunch and gave them all a few hours off before some more practice at the range. Chuck smiled as he saw Bryce and Jill leaving to raid the kitchen and go back to their cottage. He knew they were going to have lunch there and resume their fun activities. He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Sarah. He looked up at her and gave her his gigawatt Bartowski smile which caused her to smile too, brightly. They were going back for lunch after getting some fresh air outside, when Morgan intercepted them.

"Hey buddy! Got some time?"

"Sure Morgan, what's up?"

"Nothing much, I found a photo album in my stuff earlier today and I was wondering if you'd like me to show it to you. We've talked about my time in North Africa, but now I have the pictures to go with the stories."

"That would be great, Morgan, I'll get us something to eat while you go get your album," Sarah answered the question for Chuck.

"I'll help you with that," added Chuck.

Just a few minutes later Chuck Sarah and Morgan were sitting at a table enjoying lunch and browsing through Morgan's photos. Chuck pointed to a color photo of his friend and some other Legionnaires posing in front of a tank. It was not a very big vehicle, but it was the paint scheme that caught his eye. Green and red brown squiggles were painted over the sand yellow base color, a white bordered blue heart and a French red/white/blue cockade were painted on the turret and a big French tricolor adorned the hull.

"Morgan, what is that?"

"That's an old Somua S35 tank of the 12e Régiment de Chasseurs d' Afrique. The photo was taken in Tunisia after the Axis surrender."

"I like it. It's colorful," said Sarah.

"Yeah, I was lucky to be able to get some color film rolls from a Life photographer. I traded a nifty little Beretta I took from an Italian officer for them. Hey, I got my camera here. How about a taking few photos? You know I'm a sucker for such mementos." Chuck and Sarah agreed. Leading them outside, Morgan took a picture of Chuck in his Army fatigues, then a picture of Sarah, then Chuck and Sarah together – he had insisted on that and would not take no for an answer. Finally, he got Cole to take a group photo of him, Chuck and Sarah. The three thanked Cole and after Sarah took a picture of Chuck and Morgan they saw Big Mike heading towards the boathouse carrying a fishing rod and a tackle box.

"Big Mike," Chuck called, "you going fishing?"

"Yes, it's my hobby. Time for those dimwits, Jeff and Lester to do something useful too. Fancy a boat ride, fellas?" Chuck looked at Sarah, who smiled and nodded.

"Sure, why not?"

They all followed Big Mike to the boathouse. Jeff started up the diesel and Lester cast off the mooring lines. A few minutes later the USS Loretta was rolling gently with the swell in the middle of the bay. Big Mike was explaining the finer points of fishing to Jeff and Lester. Morgan was snapping photos. Chuck and Sarah were in the troop bay by the starboard gun mount abaft the narrow corridor to the bow ramp, simply leaning on the gunwale, breathing in the view. From the sea their base looked just like the resort it was originally meant to be. They were thinking the same thing: in the summer it must be absolutely beautiful here. Sarah decided that she would definitely take Chuck back to this place after the war. Just the two of them. No training, no missions, nothing else but them. Her smile grew wider. It was certainly something to look forward to, also providing another motivation for her to complete the mission.

"You know, Chuck," she said, breaking the silence, "if we were here in the summer instead of in the middle of winter, I'd be sure to go water skiing. Never tried it, but I really want to do it someday."

"How would you do that?"

"Easily enough; all I'd need would be a length of line to tie to the stern bollard with a loop on one end, a suitable board and someone to steer the boat."

"Sounds like fun." Chuck's mind was already picturing her in swimwear.

They were so absorbed in their conversation that they failed to notice Lester who had just passed by behind them to retrieve some bottles of beer from the port side gun tub. Had they seen him, they'd have also noticed the funny look on his face as he made his way back to the stern.

They went back ashore in time for the scheduled weapons practice. And this time Casey had a little surprise for all of them.

"Here, numb nuts, catch," Casey said as he tossed a short barreled rifle to Chuck, who fumbled and then caught it.

"What's that?"

"It's the De Lisle silent carbine. Basically a cut-down Lee-Enfield rifle, rebarreled to .45 caliber with an integrated silencer. Takes standard Colt .45 mags. Care to try it?"

"Uh, yes."

"Lock and load."

"Ready."

"Fire!"

Chuck aimed, pulled the trigger, then worked the bolt and fired again. The loudest sounds were the bolt cycling and the spent cartridge cases hitting the ground. From twenty feet away the weapon's report was almost inaudible. Its accuracy was also impressive. The others took their turn with the De Lisle and then Casey had Sarah demonstrate the High Standard Model HD .22 silenced automatic pistol and the Welrod 7.65mm special purpose silent pistol. Cole also showed them the operation of the silencer equipped Sten Mk IIS submachine gun and its restrictions.

The day's firearms training was concluded with a lesson on German weaponry, mostly pistols and submachine guns. It was already dark when they made their way back to the mess for dinner and some more free time. Casey and Sarah had deliberately made a more relaxed schedule for a few days. The team had made sufficient progress to allow for it. They all needed the break, since the previous two weeks had been exhausting.

Chuck ended up playing cards with Morgan and Bryce. Cole also joined in the game at some point. Sarah went with Casey to his office to do some paperwork. Later, Chuck returned to his and Sarah's cottage and worked a little more on his own notes. He only looked up when Sarah returned. She plopped down on the couch and sighed.

"Everything OK, Sarah?" he asked her.

"Hmmm? Oh, yeah, sure. I just hate paperwork."

"I don't blame you. You are a woman of action."

"I need a drink," she said. "Want some bourbon?"

"That'd be great, thanks." She poured two glasses full from her stash and gave one to him. She then moved closer to him and sat on the edge of the desk.

"Still doing your normal job?" she asked, indicating his notes.

"Yes, after all, it's what I do best." He took a sip of his bourbon.

"What else do you do, Mr. Bartowski?" she asked with a sly grin.

"Let's see… I like to go to the movies…"

"I figured that out already."

"I like reading too. Jules Verne, Isaac Asimov, H. G. Wells, that kind of books."

"I used to read Verne as a child. Never had the chance to read anything by Wells or Asimov though."

"Oh, I can fix that." He got up and disappeared to his room for a few minutes before returning with a book, which he gave to her. "Consider it your reintroduction to science fiction," he said.

"Thanks Chuck," she said with a smile. Suddenly a thought came to her. "Chuck?"

"Yes, Sarah?"

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"What does your sister think of your hobbies?"

"Normally, she doesn't mind much. She does think I should go out more though. Oh, and she was really mad at me when I tore apart the radio at our place once, when I was still in high school. I'd wanted to make my own transmitter-receiver radio and I could not afford all the components I needed, so that was the easiest solution for me."

"Somehow it fits," she said regarding him with a critical eye, trying to picture a younger Chuck being given a dressing down by his sister for what he'd done. An amused smile started creeping across her face as the image formed in her brain.

**Occupied France**

"Can you do anything about it?"

"No, Herr Major. I'm sorry, but the crankshaft is broken and at least one bearing has failed. We will need to replace the entire engine."

"Then get to work," Rechenberg said irritably.

"It's impossible, Herr Major. We do not have spare engines here. We'll have to bring one in from the main base in Metz," replied he mechanic, trying to keep his voice at a respectful tone. He already had more than enough to keep him busy without having that conceited Prussian officer hassling him. Rechenberg realized that he had nothing to gain by heaping further abuse on the mechanic and stalked off.

A Frenchman who was employed at the base overheard the conversation; he decided to report what he'd just heard to his Resistance cohorts. He did not know much about aircraft, but he could see that this one was different. The information might be important.

**January 31st**** 1944, the Castle**

"Are you kidding? You'd freeze to death in minutes. Sorry, pal, the answer is no."

"Come on, mate, I got it all covered. We have some waterproof rubber diving suits in the storeroom. I know, I checked. All I have to do is put some warm clothing underneath and we're in business."

"OK, fine. But I'm not letting you do it without a lifebelt on."

"Magnificent! I will only have to find some more things I need, as I told you."

"Colonel Casey's gonna put our asses in a sling, you know that, right?"

"I heard the blonde talking about doing it yesterday. Don't you want to help me beat her to it?"

"OK, partner, we'll do it just before lunch."

"Hooray for Jeffster!"

The Project Intersect team members were making their way back to base after a long hike in full combat gear, their minds on the refreshments awaiting them in the mess. Suddenly, Sarah, who was point, stopped and cursed roundly and loudly after taking a look with her binoculars at the scene that had caught her eye.

"Son of a bitch!"

"What's wrong, Walker?" Casey asked, coming up behind her.

"Take a look over there." He did. His reaction mirrored Sarah's.

"Are we ever gonna find peace with these two around?"

"Hey, what's up?" Chuck asked, rounding the bend and walking up to the two team leaders. Casey just glared at him and grunted. Sarah passed him the binoculars.

"You have to be kidding me!" he exclaimed after realizing what he was seeing. Lester in a rubber suit and a lifebelt was skimming through the water crouched on a homemade surfboard, which was towed behind the Loretta at the craft's full speed of nine knots.

"How is that possible? How could these two be so imaginative as to think of something like this?" Casey asked, dumbfounded.

"It's my fault," Sarah admitted miserably.

"No, it's not. Casey, don't listen to her. We were talking about water skiing while on the boat yesterday and Lester must have overheard the conversation. And the fool decided to try it in the middle of the damned winter!"

"Is it true Walker?"

"Yes."

"You are not at fault. You could not foresee their monumental stupidity. Don't worry, I'll rip 'em a new one when we get back." Casey turned to Morgan, Bryce and Cole. "Alright, saddle up people, the break's over. Just over half a mile left to go. Move it!"

Back at the base, Casey ordered a quick roll call. Jeff and Lester were fairly beaming with pride for their 'accomplishment'. The others were trying to keep straight faces, knowing what would ensue. A scowling Casey walked up and down the line a couple of times, before pausing in front of Lester.

"What is that in your mouth, Patel?"

"Chewing gum sir!"

"Swallow it!" Casey roared.

*gulp!*

Casey then grabbed Jeff and Lester by their collars and conked their heads together. They fell to the ground dazed.

"I want you two assholes in my office in five minutes. I'm not through with you yet. The rest of you are dismissed."

Naturally, Chuck, Sarah, Morgan, Bryce, Cole, even Big Mike and Langston, were all crowded in the corridor outside Casey's closed office door, listening to him shout and curse at the two idiots. What they were hearing was eliciting a wide variety of reactions, from chuckling, to cringing in mild shock, to outright laughter as Casey set new records for inventiveness and originality in insults and threats for a single chewing out session.

The rest of the day was mostly spent doing routine stuff.

At the cottage, Chuck had gotten up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and was heading back to his room, when he just happened to look in Sarah's room through her open door. She had fallen asleep, the book he'd given her still in her hand, the nightstand light on. Apparently, she'd been so absorbed by it that she'd continued reading until exhaustion got the better of her. He smiled, gently took the book from her fingers placing it on the nightstand, adjusted the covers, turned off the light and exited the room closing the door behind him with a last fond look at her sleeping form.

**A/N (2):** The "Hedy" was a real device, named after movie actress Hedy Lamarr because, according to the inventor, "lusty young officers said she created a panic wherever she went" (Time-Life Books, World War II The Secret War, revised 1982 edition, p.128).

There is also photographic evidence of US personnel waterskiing behind landing craft (Time-Life Books, World War II War In The Outposts, revised 1981 edition, p.117).

The North American Aviation AT-6 is the well known Texan (Harvard to the Brits) trainer.

The AT-11 Kansan is the bomber crew training variant of the Beechcraft Model 18 (see Chapter 1 for mention of the USN/USMC JRB-4 light transport variant).

The suppressed (silenced) weapons mentioned here are all real. Look them up online for more information. Oh, the Welrod was available both in 9mm Para and .32 ACP, the latter being featured in this chapter.

MTO: Mediterranean Theater of Operations.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N (1): **OK, folks, time for chapter 8. The plot thickens.

For the usual disclaimers see previous chapters.

Thank you all for reading and taking the time to review my work so far.

So, here goes:

* * *

**February 2****nd****, Occupied France**

"Verdammte scheisse!" Major Rechenberg exploded after the latest mishap. Oberleutnant Günther and Emil, the radar operator, both looked miserable. They could not believe their bad luck. They exited the aircraft as fire trucks and ambulances raced over and paused to survey the damage. The big Junkers was sitting on the ground at an unnatural angle, the port undercarriage leg twisted back and bent and the crumpled port wingtip resting on the runway. The ground crew chief approached them.

"What happened, Herr Major?"

"The port main undercarriage brake must have failed and locked. Then the plane ground looped." The mechanic cast an experienced glance at the aircraft. The wingtip would be easy to repair. The blades of the port propeller had been bent on contact with the hard surface of the runway, but replacing the entire prop would be easy too. But he would still have to check the engine's propeller shaft and reduction gear for damage, not to mention the replacement of the port main undercarriage unit; there might also be damage to the wing spars.

"The way I see it, we are looking at over a week's worth of repair and inspection work, Herr Major. I'd first need to check the structural integrity of the port wing and then get started on component replacement. Hopefully, we will not have to change the engine again as well."

"Do what you have to do and keep me informed of your progress."

"Of course, Herr Major."

Rechenberg walked back towards the base officers' quarters thinking that his superiors would not be pleased with the constant delays to the operational testing program for the new night fighter systems.

**February 10****th**** 1944, Washington DC**

The training program at the Castle had been officially completed the previous day. The team members had said their goodbyes to Big Mike and Langston and wished them all the best. While talking about their plans for after the war while waiting at the airstrip for a plane to take them to DC, Langston had told them he would rather continue working for the government, while Big Mike had mentioned his desire to open a home appliance store in the Greater Los Angeles Area, probably in franchise with the Buy More chain.

In DC, Sarah unlocked the door to her hotel room and looked inside. Trust the OSS to book rooms for them in an adequate establishment. Yep, it would do nicely. Although she had the option of staying at her place, she ultimately chose the hotel. It was much closer to work, but the real reason, the one she would not admit to anyone, even to herself, was that Chuck would be staying at the hotel too. In fact, his room was right next door from hers. Jill of course had insisted on having Bryce stay with her at her own place and naturally Bryce had accepted the offer.

The accommodation arrangements had been finalized in the lobby. Chuck and Morgan would share a room, Casey would bunk in with Devon, who had rejoined the team after successfully completing his flight training and he now proudly wore his pilot's wings on his uniform. Jeff and Lester, whom the team had not yet been able to get rid of, took another room. Cole would have a room all to himself. Not that he minded; his looks, uniform and Scottish accent would practically ensure he'd have company, female company, almost every night.

Sarah kicked her shoes off and checked her watch. She was tired after a flight in an uncomfortable Army transport and now she had time to rest, as they did not have any briefings or training scheduled for the day. Someone knocked on her door.

"It's open," she called. The door opened and Chuck stood there.

"Hi Sarah. Everything OK?"

"Yeah, sure. It's great to be back in DC."

"I was wondering if you could show me around later, after we all get some rest. I've already told you I've never been here before."

"What do you mean never been here, Chuck?" Devon asked from behind him. Chuck turned to face Awesome.

"I know I've told you and Ellie that I worked in DC, but it was simply not true. Need for secrecy and all that crap."

"Oh, I see Chuckster. See you later."

"Yeah."

"I'd love to go out with you Chuck," Sarah said when Devon returned to his room. "Just come and wake me up in a few hours."

"Will do. Sleep tight."

**Burbank CA**

Ellie was bored out of her mind. She'd tried to concentrate on work and she ended up working too many double shifts and now exhaustion was added on top of boredom. Chuck was in DC and Devon had been transferred to another unit, leaving her in Burbank all alone. The hospital manager had to force her to take a couple of weeks off, as he did not want one of his best doctors falling apart on him. She made up her mind. She would go to DC and find her brother. And the first thing she'd do when she found him would be to demand an explanation as to why he had not called for a month now. She collected her purse and went to buy a plane ticket. She'd check into a hotel after arriving in DC. The fact that she did not know exactly where to find Chuck did not cross her mind.

**Washington DC**

Chuck had showered, shaved and changed into a nice suit. He took a last look at his reflection in the mirror while running his hands through his unruly hair before heading to Sarah's room. He knocked on the door and entered. She was still peacefully asleep with a small smile on her face. He almost did not want to wake her up. But he still moved over to her and gently shook her awake. She found his bright smile as refreshing as the good rest she'd just had. He excused himself and waited in the hallway for her to get dressed. She soon joined him and took his arm as they headed down to the lobby. Outside, she hailed a cab and gave the driver an address. When they got there, she seemed to be a bit nervous; Chuck noticed it but did not know why. She took his arm again and moved quickly towards a nearby building.

"Hello darling, back already?" Sarah stopped in her tracks, grimacing. She turned around, forcing herself to smile.

"Yes, I got back today. I won't be staying long though." She then realized she was being a bit rude. "Sorry, I neglected to introduce you two. Chuck, this is my Dad, Jack Burton. Dad, this is Chuck Bartowski."

"Hello sir, nice meeting you," Chuck said respectfully, shaking the older man's hand.

"Nice meeting you too. Say, would you mind if I had a quick talk with Angel here, son?"

"Oh, no sir, I wouldn't mind at all." Jack took Sarah aside.

"So, who's the schnook, darling?"

"Dad, he's not a schnook."

"C'mon, kid, he looks like a class-A schnook."

"He's not. We are working together."

"Just working together, huh?"

"And we are friends too."

"Do you want me to check him out?"

"Dad, please. I'm a grown woman now. I can take care of myself."

"Can't blame a father for wanting the best for his baby girl… Can you?"

"It's sweet, but really, really not necessary."

"I see he works for the government," Jack said, looking in Chuck's wallet.

"Dad!"

"OK, OK, give it back to him. I have to go now. You two kids play nice," he said and winked.

"I think he may get to like me," said Chuck after Jack had gone away.

"You dropped this, Chuck," she said, giving him his wallet back. He gave her a funny look. "OK, I confess. He wanted to check you out. He can't help it, he's FBI," she admitted as they walked towards a parking garage.

"So, this is where you normally live? Nice neighborhood."

"Yes. But the reason I brought you here is this." She moved to a gleaming black 1940 Ford Hot Rod and fished the keys from her purse. "My dad gave it to me on my birthday after I graduated from Harvard."

"I like it. It's very much… you, in character."

"Nobody has made such a compliment to me before, Chuck. Thank you."

"It's not a mere compliment, it's the truth."

"C'mon, get in." Sarah wanted to show Chuck just as good a time as he'd showed her that night while in training. To her elation, she succeeded, especially since she added a sightseeing tour of DC by night to the evening's activities. And she managed not to get a speeding ticket, despite constantly ignoring the posted speed limits. She also took him to an amusement park, where he tried his hand at the shooting gallery. He won a teddy bear, which he gave to Sarah, saying he won the prize for her. It reminded her of what she'd told him that day at the firing range. She smiled and hugged him. This small gesture meant so much to her. Later, back at the hotel, a tired but very happy Sarah went to sleep holding the teddy bear tightly in her arms.

**February 11****th**** 1944, Washington DC**

Casey, Sarah, Chuck and Devon had been called to an early morning conference pertaining to their mission. Chuck was perplexed as to why his presence was required. After all, he was not part of the team leadership. Casey guessed that Chuck was invited as the radar expert and Devon was the pilot; both having very important tasks for the mission. It was a reasonable explanation, as they all agreed. At the OSS headquarters Casey and Sarah went to a meeting with General Montgomery and some of the higher-ups. Chuck was asked to review some technical information and was taken to a room with a microfilm viewer. The film was already loaded and he was told to take his time with it. He shrugged and made himself comfortable before turning the machine on.

What happened next was a blur. At first Chuck thought the viewer's motor must have been faulty, for it started projecting the microfilm's contents on the screen at an incredible speed. He found himself unable to turn it off or avert his eyes from the display. Two hours later, the reel reached its end. Chuck passed out and collapsed to the floor.

The meeting over, Sarah asked where she could find Chuck. She followed the directions and knocked on the door of the room she'd been directed to. There was no reply, but she opened the door and went in anyway. She saw Chuck lying motionless on the floor and immediately ran over to him, her heart pounding with dread in her chest. She knelt beside him, turned him over and cradled his head on her lap. She tried shaking him awake.

"Chuck… CHUCK! _CHUCK, PLEASE, WAKE UP! CHUCK, WAKE UP! CASEY! CASEY!__!_"

"What is it, Walker? Aw, fuck! What's wrong with Bartowski?"

"I don't know!" Tears were now running down her cheeks and her eyes were wide with fear. Fear for someone she deeply cared about. "Casey, go get Devon, now!"

"I'll be right back." Casey ran out to find the doctor. He was back with him in less than a minute. Sarah was still kneeling over Chuck crying, shaking with the sobs and begging him to wake up while lightly slapping his cheeks with her free hand as she held him.

"What the hell happened?" Devon asked, kneeling beside Sarah and beginning to examine Chuck. Sarah could only look at Devon and said nothing; she just shook her head. Casey gently pulled her to her feet and guided her to a chair, giving Devon more room to work. Sarah sat there stock still in shock, unable to stop staring at Chuck and holding Casey's hand in a death grip as it rested on her shoulder.

"He looks fine. His pulse is a bit fast, but otherwise there seems to be nothing wrong with him," said Devon. Chuck stirred and groaned. Sarah wiped her tears and was beside him in a flash. He opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was a smiling, relieved Sarah, although his vision was rather blurred.

"Sarah? What happened?"

"I don't know, Chuck… How are you feeling?"

"I have the mother of all massive headaches," he said as Sarah and Devon helped him sit up. "Other than that, I'm fine."

"Chuck, I was so worried about you." she hugged him and held him tight

"Bartowski, what's the last thing you remember?" Casey asked. Sarah released Chuck.

"Huh? I… I was about to review a microfilm with technical information. The machine must have malfunctioned. I saw the pictures but it was really fast, and then nothing."

"The reel is shredded," said Devon, checking the viewer. "And it was a really long one."

"Perhaps I can explain," said a new voice. They all turned and saw a balding, bespectacled, scholarly looking man standing at the door holding a clipboard. "My name is Professor Fleming. Perhaps you remember me from Stanford, Mr. Bartowski."

**Five days ago, Washington DC**

"You can go in now, Professor," said the secretary to the balding man who sat fidgeting in a chair across from her. The man got up, nodded politely and put his glasses back on. He then moved to enter the office of William 'Wild Bill' Donovan, head of the OSS.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice, sir," he said.

"It was your report that aroused my curiosity, professor. Do you really think it's feasible?"

"Yes, sir. The equipment exists and so does all the relevant material. All we need to do is find people suitable for the task and update the data."

"According to this," Donovan said, holding up one of the pages from the report, "it looks like we are going to have to do some serious searching. Not many people can do what you propose, Professor."

"Sir, I have devised an aptitude test designed to help in the selection process. In the appendix you will find a list of potential candidates. It is five years old, but I am confident that any one of them can participate in the program with an excellent chance of completing the course. Be advised, sir, that my participation is not limited to the selection process, but I had worked on a couple of other aspects of the project as well. Unfortunately, I have lost touch with the other members of my old research team since we abandoned the project."

"And why was it abandoned in the first place?"

"For the usual reason, sir, lack of funds. We could not get the university or the federal government to bankroll us. They considered it too outlandish. Sometimes, I'm not quite sure it's real myself, as it sounds like something out of an H. G. Wells novel." The Professor laughed nervously. "But I can assure you it can be made to work."

"Very well, Professor, we'll give it a shot. I suggest you try with some of the original candidates. My staff will assist you in locating them. In the meantime you can work on updating the data, as you said. We'll provide a list of what we need included."

"Thank you sir, I'll keep you informed of any developments."

"Have a nice day, Professor." The meeting ended and the Professor took a cab to his hotel thinking about how to handle the revived project from now on. He decided to go it alone. Locating his old partners would be too time consuming, and unnecessary, since he could supervise the whole deal himself. And he could get all the glory, not for the entire project, he was not an unfair man and he would gladly give credit where it was due, but for making it a reality.

Three days later, the Professor was informed that one of the people on his list would be in DC on the tenth. He immediately called Donovan and made the necessary arrangements. It was fortunate that the candidate happened to be the one who had achieved the highest score in the aptitude test. He'd have no problem at all with the procedure.

**Back to February 11****th**** 1944, Washington DC**

Ellie stepped off the plane and entered the terminal building. She'd slept through most of the flight, and when she woke up she realized she had no idea where her brother was. Being a practical person, she reasoned that, since he'd lived in DC for almost two years now, his name should be in the phone book. Making a beeline for the nearest telephone booth, she browsed through the phone book. Chuck was not listed in it. She began to feel a little frustrated, but she still had time to look for him, although she did not yet know where to start. A loud protest from her stomach reminded her she was really hungry. She decided to grab a bite to eat before beginning her search in earnest.

Chuck, Sarah, Casey and Devon listened in bewilderment to Professor Fleming explaining the Omaha Project to them. What they were hearing was almost beyond comprehension. Fleming assured them that there would probably be no harmful aftereffects, although the procedure had not been tested before and stressed the fact that Chuck had scored ninety-eight percent in the subliminal image retention test back at Stanford, the highest score of all time.

He then asked if it would be OK to test if Chuck had properly absorbed the encoded information. Chuck nodded and Fleming pulled a picture from his clipboard and showed it to him. Chuck's eyelids fluttered; his eyes rolled upwards; he felt a bit dizzy. Shaking his head to clear it, he recited the specifications of the vehicle shown in the photo. The Professor was amazed at the speed and comprehensiveness of the recollection. He added that the dizziness was natural, probably due to the speed of the information recall. When asked about what triggered the recalls, the flashes as he called them, he said they would be cued by external stimuli, auditory or visual. Then, after repeating the process a few more times, Fleming congratulated Chuck on the successful test.

When Chuck asked him why he had not been told about what would happen to him before the test, the Professor apologized and, perhaps too casually, wrote it off to omission. Sarah looked far from satisfied with the answer; in fact, she was seriously tempted to gut Fleming like a fish with her knives right there and then. Casey also looked like he wanted to kill Fleming in a horrible, painful, slow manner. Nobody messed with his people and got away with it. Devon was too busy checking and rechecking Chuck's vitals. Finally the Professor left and went straight to the office allocated to him to compose his report on the test.

Chuck assured a still worried Sarah he would really be fine, he just needed something for the headache. They all went back to the hotel, where Chuck had to be ordered to get some rest, after he told Morgan what had happened, asking him not to tell anyone else. Sarah agreed with Morgan to take shifts watching over Chuck as he slept. Sarah took the first shift. At first she sat by the bed, holding his hand in hers, but then took her shoes off and lay on her side in the bed beside Chuck, watching him sleep while still holding his hand until the time came for Morgan to take over.

Ellie had been to DC once before, several years ago, with her father, and she still remembered a few places from her previous visit. She had lunch at a nice little restaurant and then walked to the same hotel she'd stayed with her Dad. She went to the front desk and waited for the receptionist to finish helping a tall beautiful blonde.

"Any messages for me?" the blonde asked the receptionist.

"No, Ms. Walker, you have no messages."

"What about John Casey and Charles Bartowski, any messages for them?" The receptionist said no.

"Excuse me miss, did you just say 'Charles Bartowski'?" Ellie asked. She was definitely surprised to hear Chuck's name, but recovered quickly.

"Yes, how do you know-" Sarah said while turning to face the other woman, her hand going to a knife hidden up her sleeve. Then she took a good look at the brunette and immediately relaxed.

"I'm Ellie-"

"You are Chuck's sister, I know." Sarah smiled at Ellie's confused look. "He showed me a photo of you. And I must say you look a lot better in person. I'm Sarah Walker. Chuck and I work together," she said extending her hand. Ellie took it and smiled.

"Ellie Bartowski. Nice meeting you, miss Walker."

"Please, it's Sarah."

"Call me Ellie."

"Okay, Ellie, what brings you to DC?" she asked pleasantly.

"Oh, I was bored out of my mind, all alone in Burbank. When my boss gave me a couple of weeks off, I decided to visit my little brother. But I did not know where or how to find him. I'm really lucky I came here. By the way, where is he?"

"He's in his room. He's had a difficult morning and he's resting now. Morgan is with him." She added that last piece of information without thinking.

"Morgan? As in Morgan _Grimes_?"

"You know him?" Then the realization came. "Oh, how stupid of me to ask. Of course you know him. He and Chuck said they've been best friends for years."

"What's Morgan doing here? Aw, never mind… About Chuck… Is he giving you much trouble at work? I know how he gets sometimes."

"Oh, no, not at all," Sarah laughed. "In fact, Chuck's a great guy to work with."

"You don't know how glad I am to hear this. I should probably book a room now."

"Nonsense, Ellie, you're staying in my room with me and that's non-negotiable. It's the least I can do for a friend's sister. Unless…"

"What?"

"Come with me Ellie." Sarah was clearly excited about something. Curious, Ellie followed her to the elevator. The elevator doors opened to the floor where Sarah and the rest of the team were staying. Sarah motioned for Ellie to wait in the carpeted hallway and moved to a room, where she knocked on the door. Given permission to enter, she went in and seconds later a uniformed man came out. He saw Ellie and did a double take.

"El? Babe, what are you doing here?"

"Devon? What are _you_ doing here?" Ellie then noticed his pilot's wings. "What's that?"

"I'm a pilot too now, officially," Devon said. He then put his arms around Ellie's waist, pulled her to him and kissed her. "I missed you hon."

"I missed you too, Devon. And I missed Chuck as well."

"Let him rest a bit, he-"

"I know, Sarah told me." As if on cue, Sarah came out from Devon's room.

"Devon, Ellie, I made some arrangements for you. You'll get a room of your own on this floor. I'll tell Chuck you're here later, after he wakes up. I don't want to disturb him now. He really needs to rest." In fact, Sarah had suggested to Casey that he move in with Cole, so that Devon would be free to have Ellie stay with him. He'd declined, saying he couldn't stand the Scot's expected griping at being forced to cancel his much touted nightly 'entertainment' plans. So, he'd suggested booking another room for Devon and Ellie.

"Thank you Sarah," said Devon.

"Oh, it was the least I could do. Someone from the hotel will be coming up to give you your new room key." Ellie squealed happily and hugged Sarah. She'd liked the younger blonde woman almost from the moment they met. And she'd noticed that Sarah was very protective of Chuck. It was subtle, but it was definitely there in her actions and speech.

"Only one person I know sounds like that. Hello Ellie," Chuck said, poking his head out the door of his room.

"Chuck! Come here, little brother!" She gave him a bone bruising hug.

"Hey, Ellie, take it easy. Morgan, help! Ellie's here! Save me buddy!"

"Ellie! It's been so many years! Welcome to DC!"

"Hi Morgan! Wow, what have you been up to? You look real good," she said, taking in the short man's French uniform, before almost forcing the air from his lungs with another big hug. Yep, Ellie was definitely on a hugging spree today.

"Come on in, Ellie, we have some catching up to do. I think we all need a drink. Sarah, you coming?"

"This is a family time, Chuck."

"It's time for family and friends. And we are friends. So, come in, that's an order," he said smiling.

"As I recall, Mr. Bartowski, I'm the one who's supposed to be giving _you_ orders," she replied, matching his smile. But she followed him inside the room anyway.

Sitting comfortably in the room, Ellie bombarded them with a barrage of questions. Acutely aware of the need for secrecy, they fed her reams of half truths and outright lies, that at least seemed convincing to her and stopped her from trying to pry further into whatever they were up to.

At one point Devon excused himself and motioned for Chuck to follow. They locked themselves in Chuck's bedroom.

"Chuck, do you still have _it_?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's been with me all the time, in my stuff."

"Good thing I gave it to you for safekeeping. Ellie is a bloodhound when it comes to these things. Had I kept it in the apartment she'd have smelled diamond."

"Don't worry, Awesome, here it is: Your great grandmother's ring."

"Thanks bro. We'll be shipping out in a few days and I want to do this. Call it having something extra waiting for me to return home."

"I'm with you Devon. All the way."

"Let's do this."

They returned to the living room where the others were still talking. Ellie was talking animatedly to Morgan with an arm around Sarah's shoulders. Sarah looked a little awkward; she was not used to this kind of overt display of affection. But she liked it all the same. Ellie had just been added to the list of friends she'd made thanks to Chuck.

Devon cleared his throat, pulled Ellie away from Sarah and sat her down facing him. Chuck went and took a seat next to Sarah.

"Ellie," began Devon, "I already told you that we'll be in DC for a few more days only. And it may be a while before I get to see you again. So, I don't want to miss the opportunity to do this. I love you and I know you love me. Ellie, do you want to make it official?" He knelt, took the small box from his pocket and opened it, revealing the ring. "Ellie, will you marry me?"

Ellie's jaw dropped in surprise. But as surprise gave its place to happiness a huge smiled formed in her face. The excited squeal that followed left no doubt as to what the answer would be. Which was not long in coming.

"Yes! Yes, Devon, I will marry you. I'll be waiting. I'll be waiting until you come back. I love you so much and I'll wait as long as it takes." Devon slid the ring on her finger and the happy couple embraced. The men congratulated Devon, pumping his hand and clapping him on the back. They hugged Ellie, who was positively beaming. Sarah also hugged Ellie after only a moment's hesitation. She was glad to see Chuck so happy. When Ellie asked her to be her maid of honor she accepted without even thinking about it, because she knew it would make Chuck a whole lot happier.

Although she knew Sarah for only about a couple of hours, Ellie had already started to read between the lines and did not make the proposal lightly. Sarah had mentioned being friends with Chuck. But her mannerisms and the look in her eyes every time they talked about him and when she was with him told Ellie something else: this girl was in love with Chuck, even though she might not clearly realize it herself yet. It was love nonetheless. Ellie was positive about it. She was now sure that Chuck loved Sarah too. It was obvious every time he was near her.

Professor Fleming finished his report. He read it again to make sure he'd omitted nothing and signed it. He then handed it to an on duty clerk to have it typed and sent through the appropriate channels to Donovan. The combination of the late hour and the Professor's chicken scratch made errors inevitable. Because of this clerical error, Charles Irving Bartowski, the first subject of the Omaha Project would not be given the codename originally intended for him, which was illegible in the Professor's handwritten report. Chuck Bartowski would instead be henceforth known as… The Intersect.

* * *

**A/N (2):** Hot Rod conversions of Ford Model B and V8 automobiles were not a post-war craze. In fact it started during WWII (Wikipedia). Hopefully the 1940 Ford Hot Rod is an acceptable substitute for Sarah's Porsche 911 Boxster.

Originally, I intended Chuck to be a regular guy (but still with near photographic memory) from the beginning to the end of the story. But I've since come to realize that Chuck simply cannot be Chuck without the Intersect, hence the developments in this chapter.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N**** (1):** OK people, here's the latest installment. Hope you like this one too.

Guest stars: Mel Gibson as CDR Frank Camparelli, Brad Johnson as LT Jake Grafton, Willem Dafoe as LT CDR Virgil Cole and Jared Chandler as LT (J.G.) Jack Barlow.

All the usual disclaimers apply.

* * *

**February 16****th**** 1944, NAS Lake City FL**

A tall Navy Lieutenant tried to sneak past his CO's office, hoping he was too busy berating another pilot to notice him in the corridor.

"Have you always been this stupid? How did a person like you, as stupid as you are, become an aviator? Can you read? This is no kindergarten! This is no preschool! Graaaftooon!" The lieutenant stopped dead in his tracks and grimaced. Did the Commander have a built-in radar in addition to his good old Mark 1 Mod 0 eyeballs? There was no way he was visible from inside the office. "Get in here! You are a part of this too." CDR Frank Camparelli growled. Obediently, LT Jake Grafton entered the office and stood at attention next to LT (J.G.) Jack Barlow who had hitherto been the sole focus of Camparelli's wrath.

"Yes, sir?" he asked innocently.

"Two hundred and fifty bucks damage, thirty men in the brig and... an alligator injured. And you got away?"

"Yes, sir, we did. And, sir, we didn't start that fight."

"That's right sir," said Barlow, "our actions were strictly in self defense."

"Shut up Barlow."

"Sir, the alligator was fine when we left, right Barlow?"

"Lieutenant Grafton is right sir, said reptile was in fine health last time I saw it."

"Excuse me sir."

"What is it Mr. Cole?" Camparelli asked, addressing the new arrival. LT CDR Virgil Cole entered the office.

"Sir, these men were victimized. I saw the whole thing, and none of the blame for what happened can be laid at them."

"Is that so, Mr. Cole?"

"Yes sir."

"Fine. You are excused." Cole left the office. "As for you two, I'll give you the benefit of doubt for now. Get out of here, Grafton. As for you, Barlow, do you know what kind of name Camparelli is?"

"Sir?"

"It's an Italian name. Turns out my family are second generation Mafia. They were forced to make a living in gambling, extortion, bootlegging booze and murder, so that their boy can fly for the US Navy. So I take what I do seriously. Do you understand me, son?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Now, get out of my sight. Lieutenant Barlow, you are dismissed!"

**Washington DC**

Casey and Sarah had been to yet another briefing with General Montgomery; the news had been good. The French Resistance had managed to sabotage the Ju 88 night fighter they were after. No major damage was done, but it was enough to keep it grounded for a few more days. And the best part was that the Germans believed it was all due to a mechanical breakdown. They did not suspect foul play. Sarah chuckled as she read about the unfortunate Major Rechenberg's reactions to the repeated setbacks his small detachment was suffering in the last page of the report. She was almost feeling sorry for the man. Still, someone must have had a sense of humor to include these details in the briefing papers.

Sarah and Casey had another reason to be pleased: two days ago Montgomery had finally listened to them and ordered Jeff and Lester to report back to the Castle. They were Big Mike's problem from now on.

Chuck was in another office, going over some technical documentation pertinent to the mission. Once again, experts at the MIT Radiation Laboratory and other radar specialists had corroborated his findings and he was really pleased about it. He paused for a moment and thought about his sister. Right now Ellie and Awesome should be sightseeing in DC, since there was nothing else left for them to do, or, more specifically, Devon had nothing mission related to attend to. He was glad Ellie had dropped by to visit, but still felt guilty about not calling her even to say hello before she showed up. She'd been the only family he'd had for years and she did not deserve to be ignored. He resolved to tell her he would be unable to contact her for a while, but he could assure her he'd be fine.

Later that day, Chuck was sitting at the hotel bar with Devon and Casey.

"So," Casey said, "it's final. We're parachuting in."

"Awesome."

"At night."

"Hmmm." Devon was thinking that they had not yet made a nighttime jump.

"Bartowski, is there anything wrong?" Casey asked seeing Chuck's thoughtful expression.

"What? No, Casey, nothing, I was just thinking."

"Is it about the mission? Don't worry; I will kick you again out of the plane if you freeze, harder if Walker's lips are unavailable." Casey's sarcastic remark had Devon chuckling. Chuck had told him about his first jump back at Ft. Benning.

"It's about the mission, all right, and specifically about the aircraft that will fly us there. You know anything about it?"

"The R4D is the best guess."

"Huh?"

"Oh, right, Army guy. I was talking about a Douglas C-47."

"Uh-oh."

"What is it now, numb nuts?"

"We are going in a C-47? In the vicinity of a German night fighter field? We'll be dead meat!"

"Damn, you're right, Bartowski. We need to suggest alternatives."

"The C-46 is faster," said Devon.

"It's not fast enough," countered Casey.

"Sarah told me the SOE uses RAF aircraft, mostly bombers, to get agents in and out of France, but these are still not fast enough. Plus, we'll need a plane with its best performance at low altitudes. Heavy bombers, both ours and British, perform best high up."

"I have an idea."

"Let's hear it Woodcomb."

"Vega, a Lockheed division, makes a plane in Burbank for the Navy. It's based on a transport, so it's roomy enough, but damn it's fast. A test pilot gave me a ride in one."

"Of course!" Casey exclaimed. "The PV-1; down on the deck it can outrun almost anything the Japs have. The Marines even use it as a night fighter."

"You may have something there, Devon," said Chuck. "As I recall the type has a good radar too. Useful for navigating, I think. And it should not be too difficult to outrun most German night fighters in it. Casey, you'll have to suggest it during tomorrow's meeting."

"No, we'll go to General Montgomery right now and I want you two with me to back me up. You, Captain, because you are familiar with the aircraft. And you, Bartowski, because you know your electronics." The three men got up to leave. Morgan, Cole, Bryce and Jill stayed at their table and only looked curiously at them as they exited the bar. 

Meanwhile, Ellie had insisted she and Sarah go out and have some fun, like the good friends they'd become. They took Sarah's car and ended up in a little café in Dupont Circle. During the drive Sarah noticed that Ellie was occasionally looking at her thoughtfully. She kept doing it at the café, and her expressions indicated she was pleased to have Sarah as a friend, but there was an underlying concern about something. Finally, Ellie managed to steer the conversation in the direction she wanted.

"So, Sarah, you've known Chuck for a little over a month now. Look, before you say anything, I don't mean to pry, that's why I held back all these days, but he's my little brother and he's about the only family I have left. You like my brother, right?"

"Ellie, I told you Chuck is… he's my dearest friend."

"Is that all?" Ellie was looking intently at Sarah, who lowered her head before answering.

"I'm not good at this," she said softly.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not good at expressing feelings, Ellie. I never learned how and I'm not comfortable with it. I am not good at relationships with other people either."

"And you expect me to believe this? Sarah, a beautiful, smart woman like you can have anything she wants." _And I know you want Chuck, _Ellie thought.

"You need to understand something. I can't do normal, because I never had a normal life. As a child, I never stayed long in one place. My father's job at the time was such that we moved frequently. We traveled all over the country. It wasn't exactly conducive to making friends and stuff… I'll be frank here. My Dad is an FBI agent. Chuck has met him. I could have stayed with my mother, like my older sister, but I liked traveling, so I stuck by my Dad. Back then I did not realize the down side to it. He tried to dissuade me for exactly this reason, but I was too stubborn. I learned to be secretive for my own safety and his; to bottle up my feelings and bury them deep. A useful skill when I started working for the government. Chuck… he started to change all that, almost from the moment we ran into each other. He became my first real friend. You should be very proud of him, Ellie. He's not just good at his job. He's kind, polite, considerate, caring, and funny and a lot more. I made more friends thanks to him; Morgan, Devon… you. It's complicated, but-"

"I understand, Sarah. You are still finding yourself. Take your time and let Chuck help you. Let _us_ help you. That's what friends do; they are always there for each other. Never forget that. And there is so much more to life than just work. You just need to see it." Ellie took Sarah's hands in hers as she spoke, looking straight into the younger woman's blue eyes. She now realized why Sarah had not yet expressed her love for Chuck. Even opening up to Ellie like this had been very difficult for her and had certainly taken a lot of courage. Sarah did not know exactly what she was feeling or how to let it all out. And Ellie was determined to help, for she knew her brother and Sarah had something special; something unique: pure love, very much like herself and Devon. And to his credit Chuck did not, would not, try to force things. He'd wait until Sarah was ready to move forward too.

Chuck, Casey and Devon made it to Montgomery's office quickly and requested to see the general to discuss matters of the utmost importance. Mrs. Beckman let them in and prepared to take notes.

"So, gentlemen, what is this matter that cannot wait?"

"General, sir," Casey said, "it is about the infiltration phase of the mission. Mr. Bartowski pointed out that a conventional transport aircraft and even a diverted heavy bomber would be a sitting duck on an operation this close to a German fighter base."

"Our staff should have noticed it. Excellent work Mr. Bartowski."

"Thank you sir. Fortunately, Devon, um, Captain Woodcomb, came up with a solution. Colonel Casey and I agree it is ideal."

"Captain?"

"Sir, we can use a Navy PV-1 patrol bomber. It is fast enough at low altitude to evade interception by most German night fighters and Bartowski assures me it has an excellent radar for navigation. And it has sufficient room to accommodate the team and our equipment, based as it is on a transport aircraft design."

"I'll get the ball rolling on this. Is there anything else?"

"Yes sir; as we'll be going in at night, the aircraft will have to be fitted with exhaust flame dampers."

"Understood. I'll pass it on."

"General?"

"Yes, Mr. Bartowski?"

"The British have developed a number of electronic devices to facilitate navigation and two way contact with aircraft engaged in clandestine operation support duties. If you could verify that our contacts have the necessary equipment, we could modify the PV-1 accordingly."

"What kind of equipment are we talking about here?"

"A two-way radio telephone, called the S-Phone for communication between the aircraft and the welcoming committee on the ground, plus the Rebecca interrogator which works in conjunction with a Eureka ground emitter, together functioning as a radio homing beacon."

"Let me see if I got this straight; our people in France need to have an S-Phone."

"Correct."

"And also have a Eureka device?"

"Exactly, sir. The aircraft will then have to be fitted with an S-Phone receiver and a Rebecca transmitter."

"We can have them flown over from England."

"Sir, we can save time by fitting all these systems locally. The PV-1 can fly to England with its crew and Bartowski here will install the equipment. He's very capable with electronics."

"Thank you Colonel. All duly noted. If none of you has anything else to add, I believe we can adjourn the meeting."

"Yes, sir." The three men got up. Casey and Devon saluted the General. Chuck nodded respectfully.

"One more thing, Mr. Bartowski."

"Sir?"

"You may need an alias for some aspects of the job. Any ideas?"

"I have one sir. It's easy."

"Let's hear it."

"I can be Carmichael, Charles Carmichael, when required, sir."

"Interesting. How did you come up with it?"

"There is a place in Sacramento County, California called Carmichael. My father met my mother for the first time there." The General smiled at Chuck's reply.

"All right gentlemen, meeting adjourned. You'll be flying to England on the eighteenth." With that they all left the office, Mrs. Beckman to make the necessary inquiries and arrangements, General Montgomery to get a drink and the others to return to their hotel.

At the hotel, Casey gathered the team and told them all to start packing. After the quick meeting Chuck noticed that Sarah and Ellie were even closer now. He did not know what had transpired between the two favorite women in his life, but he was happy for both of them.

When Ellie retired to her room with Devon to help him pack, Chuck sought out Sarah.

"Hey Sarah."

"Hi Chuck. Where have you guys been?"

"We went to see the General."

"Really? Why didn't you wait until I got back?" Chuck could tell she wasn't pleased being left out. It was evident in her voice.

"It wouldn't have made a difference. We just discussed the aircraft we'll use on the mission. We settled on a fast one to evade German interceptors."

"I see. Good for us, I guess. Whose idea was it?"

"It was a team effort. By the way, how did it go with Ellie? I know how she gets sometimes."

"We had a great time. Your sister is a very nice person. And I like her a lot."

"Glad to hear it. Say, wouldn't you happen to know a good barber shop around here?"

"What do you want to go to a barber shop for?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Chuck laughed. "Ellie always said my hair is making funny animal shapes when I let it grow too long."

"Mmm, I don't know… I kinda like it that way," she said, twirling one of his curls around a finger and then running her hand through his hair. They both laughed.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"The barber…"

"I'll do it."

"You are going to give me a haircut?"

"Why not? I'm good with a pair of scissors."

"You are good with sharp objects in general, Sarah," he said, remembering how good she was with knives. They laughed again. Sarah took him by the arm and led him to his room. She sat him down in the bathroom and draped a towel over his shoulders. She then wetted his hair, fished a trimmer, a comb and a pair of scissors from his bag of toiletries and got to work. When she finished, she took a step back to admire her handiwork. Looking at his reflection in the mirror, he had do admit she'd done a great job. His hair was not too short. In fact it was still wavy, but gone were the long unruly curls. He decided that he looked good either way.

"You did a good job, Sarah, thank you."

"I told you I could do it, which brings us to the small matter of payment for my grooming services."

"Got it covered already. I'm taking you out to dinner. I know a nice place, courtesy of General Montgomery. Let me clean up and I'll meet you in the lobby in half an hour."

"It's a date, Mr. Bartowski."

As they were leaving for dinner, they saw Devon and Ellie going out as well. Sarah surprised everyone by suggesting they all go together. Ellie immediately got behind the idea and the men had no choice but to accept. Not that they were going to object, anyway. They had a great time. Chuck had to admit that Montgomery's recommendation was good. Returning to the hotel, they went back to their rooms. Chuck and Sarah had to start packing for England. In the morning Devon would go with Ellie to buy a plane ticket to Burbank. She would take the last flight out so she could spend most of the day with her brother, her fiancé and Sarah before they saw her off at the airport. 

**February 17****th**** 1944, NAS Lake City FL**

Jake Grafton, Virgil Cole and Jack Barlow were walking back towards the squadron building from the flightline, when they happened to glance up in the direction the roar of two mighty Double Wasp engines was coming from. Sure enough, it was a Ventura coming in to land. The batwing silhouette and the distinctive Lockheed twin tail were unmistakable. The huge Fowler flaps were deployed, the landing gear down and soon the big aircraft was on the ground and taxiing towards the ramp. The three aviators could tell it was not one of their own, as all were right there, securely tied down on the ramp or being readied for the next sortie at the flightline.

As it passed them, they noticed it was brand new. The paint was unblemished, save for some sooty deposits behind the shrouded exhausts. It even had the undernose three-gun pack, virtually unheard of for an aircraft apparently assigned to a training unit such as theirs. The black digits of its number, 505, gleamed in the winter sun. In all probability, the only hours on the airframe and engines were those of the factory test flight back in Burbank and the delivery flight to Florida. Grafton was sure the others were drooling over it as much as he was, but did not avert his eyes from the exquisite sight of mechanical perfection to check.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" The three aviators turned to face Camparelli.

"Yes, sir, she is. Are we gonna be issued with new aircraft?"

"Nope, but this one is yours, Mr. Cole."

"Excuse me, sir?"

"You three hoodlums are the best instructors I've got, as much as it pains me to admit it. Here's the deal: The Admiral got a call from Washington, requesting an experienced PV-1 crew for a special assignment. The Admiral turned to me and I suggested you for the job. Grafton and Barlow as pilots, Cole as the navigator. You'll have to volunteer, but if you do, this here baby is yours."

"I'm in, sir," said Grafton.

"Count me in too," added Barlow.

"And you, Mr. Cole?"

"Like you need to ask, sir. Of course I'm in."

"Sir, what is this special assignment all about?" Grafton asked. Camparelli looked furtively around before replying.

"Some kind of spy mission; you are to fly OSS agents into Occupied Europe. Apparently, someone thought the speed of Vega's Lucky Star will stand you in good stead over there."

"Sounds interesting, sir."

"Just recommend a couple of gunners, one for the turret and one for the stinger. Then get your things together. You boys are flying to England tomorrow. In her," he said, pointing to the aircraft.

"Yes, sir," Grafton, Cole and Barlow chorused. Camparelli dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

**Washington DC**

The day began with the customary meeting with General Montgomery, who happened to have very good news for the team. The agents in France possessed both an S-Phone and a Eureka emitter, largely solving any problems concerning the approach to the drop zone. The General also said he had arranged with SOE to have the necessary equipment ready for fitting to an aircraft.

The briefings were finally over just before noon. Casey, knowing it was their last day there, decided not to burden them with any more preparations. They were ready enough, anyway. He even told Devon to go have fun with his fiancée. Chuck told his soon to be brother in law he would meet him back at the hotel in time to take Ellie to the airport. For now, he and Sarah would take a long walk.

They were near a park, Sarah once again having assumed the role of the tour guide, when Chuck suddenly stumbled. Sarah caught him before he fell, thinking he just tripped on something, but then she saw his eyes rolling upwards and realized he was having a flash. She quickly pulled him upright, on the alert for any threat. He soon regained his balance.

"Chuck, what's the matter? I saw you flash, or whatever Professor Fleming called it."

"Yeah, I flashed. See that guy over there at our one o'clock?"

"Yes, I see him."

"His current alias is Justin Sullivan. Former member of the German-American Bund and a Nazi to boot. He's on the FBI's watch list on suspicion of being a German spy. He's also suspected of various acts of sabotage in industrial facilities on the East Coast. Nothing against him was ever proven and the FBI lost track of him a few months ago."

"Are you sure Chuck?"

"Hey, it's all in here," he said, tapping on his head with a finger. It was confirmation enough for Sarah. Her hand went to the gun in her handbag.

"We need to call the FBI. I could kill him on the spot, but we can't afford the delays with police enquiries and the like. Besides, he might be more useful alive. Until he hangs, anyway."

"Phone booth up ahead."

They both ran to the phone booth. Sarah got inside and Chuck fished in his pockets for change, passing the coins to her. She quickly dialed a number.

"Yes, hello," she spoke to the person who answered, "I would like to speak with Special Agent Jack Burton… Yes, it's an emergency… Tell him it's Agent Sarah Walker, Office of Strategic Services, he knows me… Thank you, I'll hold… Daddy it's me, Sarah… I'm fine, please listen. We identified an enemy agent, Justin Sullivan; he's here in DC… You've heard of him? Good… No, he's not aware he's been made… Shit, he's on the move! We'll follow him and I'll call you again. Just have your people ready… Yes, Daddy, I'll be careful. Bye now."

"Sarah, hurry, we are going to lose him."

"Take it easy, Chuck. I know what I'm doing. Trust me."

"I always trust you."

They followed 'Sullivan' to a hotel not too far away. Sarah led Chuck into a building across the street. She entered an office and, ignoring the startled young man working there, moved to the window and took up position there to watch. Chuck was right by her side.

"OK, now what?"

"Now we wait, Chuck. Here, take these. If you see anyone we know, just tell me," she said, handing Chuck a pair of small binoculars.

"You have these with you?"

"I was going to take you to the Jefferson Memorial and maybe to another park too, if we had time. The fauna there is very interesting. Nice place for bird watching."

"Oh, I see. Well, we gotta work now." They kept ignoring the office's occupant. Chuck steadied the binoculars and soon spotted Sullivan's room. He was not alone. Chuck flashed.

"That's interesting," he said.

"Who did you see?"

"Our man's in there, with another German spy, Brandt Weiss, a.k.a. Brad White and, best of all, a man known only by the codenames 'Leader' and 'Uncle Tobias'. He must be the one with a transmitter. He'll send the information the others give him to Germany."

"Excuse me, who are you people?" Chuck and Sarah turned to face the young man.

"We work for the government," Chuck replied. "I'm Agent Carmichael; this is Agent Walker, my partner. What's your name, pal?"

"Michael Johnson. But my friends call me Skip."

"OK, Skip, we need to call our friends in the FBI. Can we please use your phone?"

"Sure, anything you want."

"Thanks!"

Sarah picked up the phone and called the FBI. Someone answered immediately.

"Hello, Agent Walker for Special Agent Burton… We have a location and three suspects." Sarah gave the address, listened to what her father had to say and hang up, a satisfied look on her.

"They'll be here soon," she said.

"So we wait."

"Hey, can I get you guys anything, coffee, or whatever?"

"Coffee would be nice, Skip, thank you."

"Glad to help, Agent Carmichael."

Less than an hour later it was all over. The FBI surrounded the hotel and stormed the room where the German spies were meeting. There was some gunfire. Chuck and Sarah went out in the street in time to see Leader and Sullivan being taken away in handcuffs. A body was wheeled out on a gurney, covered with a bloodstained sheet. It was White. Jack Burton exited the hotel holstering his Colt. He saw his daughter and her friend the schnook and went over to them.

"Good work, Angel, we got 'em."

"It was all Chuck, Agent Burton. He identified them."

"Really? Well done, schnook."

"Uh, thank you…"

"Dad, he has a name! Please don't call him schnook."

"And you stop calling me 'Agent Burton', darling. I prefer 'Daddy'. You are still my baby girl, remember?" Sarah just smiled.

She and Chuck soon resumed their sightseeing walk. She remembered something about the earlier events and looked up at Chuck questioningly. He noticed it.

"What?"

"The whole 'Agent Carmichael' thing; how did you come up with it?"

"General Montgomery," he laughed. "He told me I might need an alias, so I chose that."

"You thought of it? It's nice, dignified and easy to remember."

"Thank you Sarah. In fact, Carmichael is the place in California where my parents first met."

"Enough with work. It's our last day here, so let's just enjoy it while we can."

They spent most of the rest of the day together. They returned to the hotel to join Devon and they took Ellie to the airport together. As she hugged each of them goodbye, she told Chuck to take care of Sarah. She also told Sarah to take care of Chuck. They promised her they would. After Ellie's flight departed, they all went to meet the rest of the team. Casey then took them all out to dinner. Back at the hotel, they all retired to their rooms. Tomorrow the mission would begin.

* * *

**A/N (2) – the history lesson:** Some of you may be wondering why I replaced Danny Glover with his _Lethal Weapon_ co-star Mel Gibson for the part of CDR Camparelli. Well, the US Armed Forces at the time were still segregated, and the Navy had no African-American aviators. Desegregation began in 1948 with an Executive Order by President Truman. Other than that, the use of the characters is a tribute to _Flight of the Intruder_. Jesse LeRoy Brown (13 October 1926 – 4 December 1950), KIA in Korea, was the first African-American naval aviator in the United States Navy. (Squadron/Signal Publications USN/USMC Over Korea and Wikipedia)

Established as one of several support facilities to NAS Jacksonville, NAS Lake City was used to train U.S. Navy and U.S. Marine Corps pilots in land-based PV-1 Venturas and PV-2 Harpoons. (Wikipedia)

The production line for the Lockheed-Vega PV-1 Ventura patrol bomber was located in Burbank CA. The three-gun undernose pack was a relatively late modification, but still well within the time frame of the story, as I have been able to find a schematic for the PV-1 dated December 1943 which shows said gun pack. Marine night fighter squadron VMF(N)-531 successfully used modified PV-1s as night fighters in late 1943-early 1944. There is info on the variant in Wikipedia and in the Squadron/Signal Publications Ventura In Action book.

The earlier Lockheed Hudson (US designations A-28/A-29 and AT-18A for the USAAF and PBO-1 for the Navy) was used in limited numbers – about 6 – by the RAF for the infiltration and extraction of agents in Occupied Europe (SECRET WARFARE: The Arms and Techniques of the Resistance by Pierre Lorain). This fact was the inspiration for the use of the much faster Ventura (itself based on the Lodestar transport) in the story.

The S-Phone ultra high frequency duplex radio telephone and the Rebecca/Eureka transponding radar were indeed used in the war as communication and navigation aids for aircraft engaged in clandestine missions. They were British designs, but the OSS section for operations in occupied France had been virtually merged with F Section SOE anyway. I first learned about them while reading Pierre Lorain's SECRET WARFARE: The Arms and Techniques of the Resistance, but Wikipedia also has information on both systems. The equivalent AN/UPN-1 radar Pathfinder marker beacon would have been unavailable at the time.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N (1):** We are getting closer to the start of the major action.

I see you like the story and the history that comes with it. Thank you for your kind comments.

Also starring Kristin Kreuk as Hannah.

Enjoy Chapter 10!

* * *

**February 18****th**** 1944, over the Atlantic**

Chuck wished he could sleep on planes. He occasionally managed to do it, but only under certain conditions: he had to be exhausted and the ride needed to be quiet. He did need to grab some shuteye, having gotten up before dawn to catch the flight to England, but a C-87 Liberator Express transport is not exactly quiet or comfortable. Quite the opposite, in fact. He looked up from his copy of Stars and Stripes to see the others snoring away in unison and in concert with the engines. Even Sarah, a fur lined leather flying jacket protecting her from the cold, had fallen asleep, a book she'd bought in DC based on his recommendation loosely held in her fingers. She shifted in her sleep, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. He looked at her for a moment, before turning his gaze once again to the cluttered interior of the aircraft. The loadmaster smiled at him and gave him a thumbs-up. Chuck returned the smile and then went back to reading his newspaper.

**Somewhere else over the Atlantic**

Jake Grafton closed his paperback novel and glanced at Jack Barlow over at the copilot's seat. The young officer flew the Ventura with a look of concentration on his face. The compass confirmed they were on course, further verified by a report from Virgil Cole who'd just finished plotting their course on his maps after taking a sextant shot of the sun from his astrodome.

"Hey, what's this?" Cole asked from between the pilots' seats, pointing straight ahead.

"Looks like another aircraft," replied Grafton.

"Probably an anti-sub patrol. Better keep out of their way," remarked Barlow. Cole found a pair of binoculars and focused them on the other aircraft which happened to be sharing the same place in the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean with them.

"Anti-sub my ass, he's a Kraut!"

"What? Give me those!" Grafton swore as he now saw it was indeed an enemy aircraft. "Barlow, I have the controls," he said, handing the binoculars back to Cole. "Arm guns!"

Barlow obliged and reported the nose guns hot and ready. Cole had roused the two gunners from their slumber and they were both scrambling to their battle stations.

"What now, Jake?"

"Let's go get the bastard!"

"I'll go get my camera!"

Grafton firewalled the throttles of the two R-2800 engines and pointed the nose straight at the enemy aircraft. By now they had identified it as a Focke-Wulf Fw 200C-3 on the prowl for Allied shipping.

"Watch out, he's firing!" Barlow yelled. Grafton jinked the Ventura and easily avoided the 20 mm cannon fire from the German aircraft's top turret. Realizing he stood no chance against the PV-1 and mindful of orders to avoid combat at all if possible, the German pilot tried to make a run for a nearby cloud bank. The American aircraft was much faster, however, and soon caught up. Aiming at the Condor's port wing root, Grafton pressed the firing button; five .50 caliber machine guns thundered as a stream of tracer shot from the PV-1's nose and headed straight for the Condor. Virgil Cole was enthusiastically recording the enemy aircraft's last moments with his camera. Lacking armor and fuel system protection, the aircraft once known as 'the Scourge of the Atlantic' caught fire immediately and broke up in mid-air as the armor-piercing incendiary and high explosive incendiary rounds ripped through the rear wing spar and the fuel tanks. There were no parachutes. Grafton circled the spot where his prey had gone down, but they saw no sign of survivors. Just assorted debris bobbing on the swell and a small fuel slick. Not that it mattered anyway; in the frigid waters of the Atlantic in winter a man's life span is measured in mere minutes.

**Occupied France**

"What do you see?"

"They are rehearsing!"

"Rehearsing, like for a play?"

"Yes, Ilsa, but this is not just any play. They are learning to become like our people." Carina put the binoculars down. She was thinking fast; not only were these despicable SS men wearing Allied uniforms, but she could see they really acted like Americans. One of them was wearing a different uniform, which she identified as being that of a British Lieutenant Colonel. She recognized him as the man who'd been hitting on her at the market the other day, what was his name again? Karl Stromberg, she remembered. Only he'd been wearing a Wehrmacht uniform at the time. For them to spend this much time training meant they were getting ready for something big. And it was definitely not for a mission on the Italian front. A chill ran down her spine when she realized they were preparing to go to England.

"Come on Ilsa, let's go home. I've seen enough."

"Did you see anything worth reporting to London?"

"Yes, I did."

**RAF Alconbury, England**

"Devil Five-Oh-Five, you are cleared to land," said the voice from the control tower over the radio. Grafton acknowledged as he aligned the nose of the Ventura with the runway.

The PV-1 touched down smoothly on the runway and rolled towards the exit where a yellow and black checkered 'Follow Me' jeep was waiting. The Army driver guided the Navy aircraft to the area occupied by the aircraft of the 801st Bombardment Group (Provisional) – better known as the Carpetbaggers. The ground crew placed wooden chocks in front of the wheels and signaled the pilot to cut the engines. The five crew members exited the plane as it was being tied down on the hardstand. The 801st BG Operations Officer greeted them.

"I see you've been busy," he said, pointing at the shredded and scorched paper cups which had been taped over the gun muzzles back in the US and the cordite deposits on the fuselage.

"Ah, yes sir, we bagged a Condor over the Atlantic."

"You did? Well, congratulations and welcome to England, Lieutenant Grafton. My name is Hennessey. If you'll come with me, there are refreshments at the Officers' Club. By the way, would you like me to arrange for someone to paint a kill marking on your baby?"

"Sure, sir, thank you."

"What do you prefer; a swastika, a silhouette, or a Balkankreuz? "

"A what?"

"A German cross."

"I'll go for the latter," replied Grafton. The Army officer spoke to an enlisted man, who ran off to find paint and a brush. The six men then walked among some gloss black B-24 Liberators and piled on a jeep for the short drive to the O-Club, the Ventura's gunners sitting on the hood.

"Your Joes have not yet arrived," Hennessey said, as he swerved to avoid a fuel tanker truck.

"Our who?"

"The Joes, the agents you'll be flying to Europe. I've been briefed on a few things about your mission."

"I see."

"They'll be here later today, or so I'm told."

**Over the Atlantic**

Chuck had long ago finished reading Stars and Stripes. He was now engrossed in Sarah's book. Sure, he'd read it before, but he didn't mind. The flight was long and boring. Bryce was awake now and he was looking dreamily at a photo of himself with Jill taken back in DC. Chuck wished he could see the photos Morgan had taken at Castle and in DC, but his friend had instructed the man at the OSS photo lab, who happened to be an acquaintance of Sarah's to mail the developed photographs to Burbank. They wouldn't be ready until tomorrow at any rate, so there was no use grumbling about it.

As the pilot made a course adjustment, the movement of the aircraft sent Sarah right onto Chuck's lap. Incredibly, she didn't wake up. Very gently, he shifted to make her more comfortable and wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her from falling on the floor with any more abrupt maneuvering. He lightly stroked her hair back with his free hand, brushing it off her face. With one last fond look at her sleeping form, he went back to his borrowed book.

**War Office 'Y' Group Intercept Station, Beaumanor Hall, Leicestershire, England**

"Sir!" a petite Welsh brunette called excitedly, "we have activity from station ANP!" Her left hand made some delicate adjustments to the Hallicrafters SX-28 Skyrider receiver's frequency knob, while she was furiously writing down the message. First came the Q Code letter groups, the opening pleasantries as she called them, and then the five-letter cipher groups of the main message.

The duty officer, a Major, hurried to her station. He hovered behind her, watching as she jotted down the message.

"This is it, sir," she said, tearing the top sheets from the pad and handing them to her supervisor.

"Thank you Hannah. Is there anything else?"

"No Major, I did not notice anything different. It's still the same operator. He's got a most beautiful fist, if I may say so. Almost like a pianist, sir. Too bad all we get from him is bloody gibberish." _But I hope someone is making actual sense out of it,_ she thought.

The Major patted Hannah on the back and ran off to send the intercepted message to G hut, from where it would be forwarded by teleprinter to Bletchley Park. He also had to check with direction finding to see if the transmitting station was still in the same place. Behind him Hannah pulled her khaki ATS uniform overcoat tighter around her slender shoulders and blew some warmth onto her fingers before replacing the headphones over her ears. The intercept hut was always cold and the stove seemed unable to cope.

**Station X, Bletchley Park, Buckinghamshire, England**

Less than fifteen minutes after the message had been intercepted by the Beaumanor station, the transcript was already in the hands of the shift supervisor in Block E. He had been alerted to it being a priority intercept, so he would oversee its decoding personally. Hut 6 had already broken the day's settings for the Enigma key in which the message was sent. The supervisor handed the intercept and the key settings to a Type-X machine operator and watched as she set up the typewriter-like machine and started typing the letter groups of the encoded message. The Type-X spewed out a strip of paper with the plaintext on it, which the supervisor gummed on the back of the original intercept slip. He then took it himself to Hut 3, where it would be translated to English and sent for analysis.

In Hut 3 the American liaison officer took a quick look at the translated plaintext and immediately called his superiors on a secure telephone line. He was ordered to forgo the usual analysis and send the decrypt by teleprinter to the OSS office in London.

**RAF Alconbury, England**

The long transatlantic flight was almost over, as the Liberator Express turned on its final approach to the runway. By now all the passengers were wide awake for the landing. Sarah had been a bit surprised to find herself half in her seat and half on Chuck when she awoke, but realized this was why she'd slept so peacefully. The huge mainwheel tires screeched audibly on the smooth blacktop of the runway, quickly followed by the nosewheel. It was a very smooth landing. The aircraft taxied to the apron and soon the large doors on the port side opened to allow the passengers to disembark.

Chuck slung his kitbag on a shoulder and jumped down to the tarmac. He paused to straighten the jacket of the USAAF Second Lieutenant's uniform he'd been wearing and turned to give a hand to Sarah as she descended the steps of the small boarding ladder. Chuck also offered to get her suitcase, but she declined. Once off the aircraft, she cast an appraising look at him and fiddled with his uniform a bit more.

General Montgomery had given Chuck a temporary commission as an officer so as not to arouse anyone's curiosity by having a man in civilian clothes within a group of military personnel. And in recognition of his expertise and his flight hours accumulated during his work on radars, he was now ostensibly a navigator/radar operator. If Sarah thought he looked dapper in a civilian suit, she now found him positively dashing. She tipped his peaked cap at a slight angle and stepped back to admire her handiwork.

"That's better, Lieutenant Bartowski. Or is it Carmichael?" Sarah said.

"Thank you Ms. Walker. And either name is fine by me."

"If you two lovebirds are done, our ride is on the way," Casey said, pointing to an olive drab International K7 bus approaching them. It stopped and a tall, strikingly beautiful blonde WAC Second Lieutenant stepped out. She approached Casey and saluted.

"Colonel Casey, sir?"

"That's me," he said, returning the salute.

"I'm Lieutenant Alexandra Forrest, your liaison."

"You with the OSS, Lieutenant?" Casey asked.

"Yes sir, I report to the office in London. We have booked rooms for you in a small hotel nearby, sir."

"OK people, saddle up and get on the bus!" Casey commanded. The others quickly obeyed, Cole casting an admiring glance at Alex Forrest and smiling brightly at her. He got an ice cold look in return.

The bus rolled towards the base's main gate. Chuck was looking out the window, taking in the view of the airfield and the English countryside. They were passing one of the big Nissen huts when…

_A field of sunflowers_

_A photo of a man at a political meeting_

_A mission report_

_Scotland Yard and FBI reports_

_A field of sunflowers_

"Sarah, Casey," Chuck whispered urgently.

"What is it, Bartowski?"

"I flashed."

"On what?"

"On a German spy."

"Stop the bus!" Casey yelled at the driver. Alex was befuddled, but nodded at the driver. The vehicle came to a halt.

"What's the matter sir?"

"Lieutenant, go find some MPs, now!"

"Um, OK, I mean, yes sir." She ran towards a Military Police jeep which happened to be passing by and flagged it down. Casey, Chuck and Sarah joined her and the MPs.

"Listen," began Chuck, "I recognized an enemy agent. His name is Jack Artman, member of the British Fascist Party. Tall, balding, wears a RAF Sergeant's uniform. He went round the corner over there. Approach him with extreme caution, as he's known to use poison to kill people."

"Which means 'shoot to kill', if he tries to pull any funny business," clarified Casey. The MPs nodded and went to find the suspect.

Casey himself went round the hut followed by Sarah and Chuck.

"That's him," said Chuck.

"I see him, Bartowski. Now get your ass back here. Walker, watch him." Casey casually strolled towards the man and discreetly pointed him out to the four MPs coming from the other side of the hut. Before the unsuspecting man had a chance to react, Casey threw a mighty punch and caught him on the jaw, sending him down on to the ground, completely stunned. In an instant the MPs piled on him, pinning him to the ground and cuffing him. They also searched him, removing his weapons.

"Good job, Sergeant," Casey said to the senior MP. "Now take this piece of shit outta here."

"Yes sir, we'll lock him up and have someone from higher up the food chain come and take him out of our hair."

"Good man; carry on."

They returned to the bus, where Forrest, Cole and Bryce regarded them with questioning expressions. Devon and Morgan had guessed what had just happened, as they knew about Chuck's newly acquired skill set, but wisely kept their mouths shut.

The drive to the hotel was quiet. Casey and Sarah appeared to be lost in thought. Forrest was still perplexed, but didn't question the fact that Chuck had helped a lot. Nobody knew how much damage the traitor would have done had he not been noticed. Once inside, they were assigned rooms; Casey with Devon, Chuck with Morgan, Bryce with Cole and Sarah with Alex. Casey then motioned for Sarah and Alex to join him in the courtyard.

"Well, this incident today had me thinking. Alconbury looks like a good base, but it's too open to have any kind of real security. Too many units there and consequently too many people. We were lucky Bartowski recognized that Kraut. We need to move our base of operations to a more secure location as soon as possible. Any ideas Forrest?"

"Sir, I'll have to take the matter to my superiors in London. In the meantime, this hotel should be secure enough."

"I have an idea," Sarah said.

"Let's hear it Walker."

"Tempsford; there is a RAF base in Bedfordshire called Tempsford, after a nearby village. It's a most secret location. This is where I flew to Europe from on my previous missions."

"Can you arrange for us to move there tomorrow, Forrest?"

"Yes sir; I'll just have to go back to base and make a few calls. And your PV-1 is already here sir. At the airfield, I mean"

"Do what you have to do, including arranging for our aircraft to fly to Tempsford as well and come back here to report."

"Yes sir," Alex said, saluted and ran back to the bus.

"That was quite an idea you had, Walker. Your experience surely is useful out here."

"Thanks Casey."

"C'mon, let's get back inside; I need coffee."

"You'll most likely get tea. Real coffee is a bit of a rare luxury around here."

"Fuck…"

"Unless Forrest was efficient enough to arrange for the hotel to have coffee."

"Oh, how I hope so."

At the airfield Alex Forrest was almost finished making the necessary arrangements for the move to Tempsford, when a clerk told her that a dispatch rider had something for her. She signed for the sealed envelope and made one last phone call to London. She also met with the crew of the Ventura and quickly briefed them on the impending relocation to the British base.

**Occupied France**

Carina strolled into town and stepped inside a store. She noticed the townspeople looking at her with respect. They had seen her resist the advances of a Boche officer the other day. They believed the young 'widow' chose to stay true to her late husband and her adopted country, as the people believed she was a Swedish girl who had married a Frenchman. They also believed her husband had died before the war and she'd moved there from Paris last year. Only a select few knew she was an Allied agent. She was going to see one of them now.

She waited until another customer left and approached the man behind the counter.

"Serge, we have a big problem," she said.

"Yes, I know. Poor Guy… this was some bad luck."

"What exactly happened?"

"The Gendarmes told me he must have fallen asleep at the wheel."

"Merde. I think he had something for me. Now I may never know."

"Don't worry Carina; he gave it to me for safekeeping."

"You have the schematics?"

"Yes, I do. They are really detailed. Do you want them now?"

"Yes, please," Carina said. Serge slipped the papers between Carina's other purchases.

"Have a nice day Madame," he said smiling as another customer entered the store.  
"Merci Serge. Au revoir."

**Huntington, Cambridgeshire, 5 miles SE of RAF Alconbury, England**

Alex returned to the hotel and informed Casey that they would be flying to Tempsford in the morning. She also gave him the envelope her superiors from London had sent. Casey read the contents and noted with satisfaction that the time window for their operation was comfortably wide. The Ring operatives needed some extra supplies and more information on their as yet undisclosed objectives, while their other target, the night fighter, would remain grounded for a few more days.

Since they did not have anything to do until their move to Tempsford in the morning, Chuck and Sarah decided to go for a stroll in town. Chuck pointed out that the town was the birthplace of Oliver Cromwell, and also took her to see the medieval bridge over the Great Ouse.

"Chuck, how come you know so much about this place? Is it in the… you know, whatever Professor Fleming put in your head?"

"What? Uh, no, not at all. I read some literature about the town back at the hotel."

"Still, it's a beautiful place."

"Hmm, I don't know… The weather could be better. I'm from sunny California, don't forget that."

"I can understand; after all I lived in San Diego for a couple of years."

"You did, huh? Then the least I can do for you is buy you a drink. Shall we visit a pub, Milady?" Chuck asked offering Sarah his arm

"By all means, Sir Charles," she replied, taking his arm. Together they marched into a pub the hotel owner had recommended to Chuck earlier.

**February 19****th**** 1944, RAF Tempsford, Bedfordshire, England**

The team had flown to their new base just before dawn, after meeting up with the crew of their aircraft at Alconbury. During the flight Grafton had impressed them with the speed and maneuverability of the PV-1 by giving them an impromptu demonstration. And they had thoroughly enjoyed it.

Right now the Ventura was getting some tender loving care at the hands of a combined team of RAF and USAAF mechanics, the former drawn from Coastal Command units equipped with the type and the latter, who turned out to be rather superfluous but welcome anyway, from the P-47 equipped 56th Fighter Group, as the Thunderbolt was also powered by the P&W Double Wasp engine. The OSS and the SOE had left nothing to chance. The Navy had already fitted it with exhaust flame damping shrouds before delivery, so the ground crew only had to add the longitudinal wire inside the fuselage for the parachute static lines to hook up on. In addition the US made racks in the bomb bay were replaced by British ones so as to accommodate standard SOE Type C and Type H supply drop containers. The finishing touches for the moment were the conical flash eliminators attached to the muzzles of the guns. Chuck would oversee the fitting of the necessary extra electronics later with the help of Virgil Cole and a couple of RAF specialists.

In the meantime, the team members were making themselves comfortable at a small two storey property in the village near the airfield that had been rented for them. The billeting arrangements were identical to those in Huntington. Cole Barker was once again trying, without success, to woo Alex Forrest. Bryce was writing a letter to Jill. Casey was also writing to his family. Chuck, Devon and Morgan decided to catch up on their sleep. Sarah was in the drawing room reading The Times and making progress with the crossword puzzle while enjoying a cup of coffee.

When she solved the last one, five down, Sarah sighed and put the newspaper and her pencil down on a low table. She looked up as Casey entered the drawing room.

"It's a nice place here Walker," he said.

"Yes, it's just as I remember it. I've been here before," she clarified. "Not in this particular house, but in Tempsford. This is where my missions in Europe began."

"Yes, you told us about that yesterday. Have you seen Captain Woodcomb anywhere?"

"Awesome? I think he's still in his room."

"I'll go get him."

Half an hour later they were all gathered in the dining room, seated around a long table.

"OK people, enough playing tourists. Time to get back to work. Woodcomb!"

"Sir!"

"Lieutenant Forrest tells me the Rafwaffe will be sending something for you."

"Uh, sir, what is the Rafwaffe?" Devon asked and Casey nodded to Forrest.

"No.1426 Flight (Enemy Aircraft Circus) RAF, which explains the nickname 'Rafwaffe', Captain, sir," answered Forrest. "They have an example of a German night fighter, a Ju 88R-1."

"Not good," said Chuck.

"Why's that, Bartowski?"

"We are after an aircraft based on the C-6 version, with Junkers Jumo 211 inline engines. The R-1 has BMW 801 radials."

"Still, Chuck, I'd like to get some more flight hours in the '88, especially at night."

"If you say so, Devon."

"Now that we have clarified this," said Casey, "there is another small matter to attend to. Back in the US we somehow omitted to do even one nighttime jump. We will remedy the omission here; tomorrow night, weather permitting, we'll do our first night jump at Ringway. Bartowski, you head back to the airfield and supervise the fitting of the mission electronics to our aircraft. Woodcomb, go with him. Your new toy should be arriving shortly, if it's not there already. Just make sure you return it in the same condition you get it."

"Yes, sir," they both replied and got up to leave. Alex gave them a jeep and reminded them that the Brits drive on the wrong side of the road. Devon, of course, in all his awesomeness, had absolutely no problem with it and got them safely to the airfield.

Chuck immediately got to work, he and Virgil Cole first deciding where to install the black boxes for the S-phone receiver and the Rebecca interrogator. Once they had overseen the installation, Chuck instructed the RAF crew to fit the three S-Phone antennas on the PV-1's belly, between the undernose gun pack and the bomb bay. Then the Rebecca Yagi type directional antennas were fitted on either side of the nose. Fitting and connecting the necessary wiring was a simple matter. The final modification concerned the crew entry door on the port side of the fuselage; removing it entirely would mean increased aerodynamic drag and hence an unacceptable reduction in speed, but eventually Chuck and Grafton figured out a way to make it open inwards, so that it could be opened and closed easily in flight, by the simple expedient of removing the inner sill from the door frame and adding sturdy swing stops and a locking lever to keep it secure when closed. As they agreed, 'necessity is the mother of invention'.

While Chuck was enjoying the opportunity to work with electronics again, Devon was flying the Rafwaffe Ju 88R-1, with a RAF Flight Lieutenant as his instructor. Since the fuel tanks were full, Devon took the opportunity to do some navigation practice as well, and did really great, much to the satisfaction of the British officer. The most important thing Devon learned was how to work in concert with the radar operator, something which might prove useful while on the mission.

The modification work on the Ventura and the test flight to verify the calibration of the new systems and train the crew in their operation lasted until well after dark, which was considered a bonus, as it was sort of a dry run for the actual mission. Chuck told Grafton, Barlow and Cole that the two new systems complemented each other to ensure maximum accuracy for navigation. Combined with the Ventura's own excellent ASD-1 radar, they need not worry about missing the designated drop zone.

Devon landed the captured German aircraft and waited with his RAF instructor for it to be refueled, so they could go up again. This time they stayed aloft until after dark, to get the feel of night flying. The British officer was quite impressed with his student's night flying skills.

Chuck and Devon had returned to their digs by ten p.m., and found all the others still up and waiting for them. They reported the successful conclusion of their assigned tasks to Casey and Sarah and then took turns for a bath. The wartime restrictions in England were a bit of a surprise to both of them, but they managed to cope – with a bit of cheating.

Later that night, a slight noise outside his room roused Chuck from his light sleep. Morgan was lightly snoring in the other bed, but he had not made the noise. He was about to go back to sleep when he heard the sound of the door to the garden opening. Curious, he quickly got dressed and went to investigate. In the garden he saw Sarah, wearing her flannel pajamas and her flying jacket standing there, staring towards the airfield as an aircraft took off and headed for France to pick up or deliver agents.

"Hey Sarah, what are you doing out here?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing, I was just thinking."

"Were you thinking about the mission?"

"This place brings back memories, Chuck. My previous missions, people I knew who never made it back…"

Chuck draped an arm around her shoulders, pulled her to him and held her close.

"We'll be fine," he said. "You once told me that we are among the best of the best. We'll do our part in winning this war and then we'll go back home to our loved ones. All of us."

"Thanks Chuck," she said looking up at him.

"Come on, let's go back inside. It's freezing out here."

Sarah let him guide her back inside the house. They sat together in the drawing room for a while, engaged in light hearted conversation, until she fell asleep on the couch next to him. He smiled, picked her up in his arms and carried her to her room. He managed not to wake Alex up as he gently removed Sarah's jacket and tenderly deposited her on her bed before pulling the covers over her. He then kissed her lightly on the top of her head before closing the door and returning to his room.

* * *

**A/N (2); some more history:** The Focke-Wulf Fw 200 Condor, based on an airliner design, was the best known German maritime reconnaissance and shipping strike aircraft of the period.

RAF Alconbury was until late March of 1944 the home base of the 801st Bombardment Group (Provisional), a.k.a. the Carpetbaggers, responsible for flying agents (Joes) in occupied Europe and supplying Resistance fighters. (Wikipedia)

Beaumanor Hall also housed the headquarters of Y Group, as well as a communications interception and direction finding station. (Wikipedia)

Bletchley Park was where the code breaking work was done. (Wikipedia and Time-Life Books World War II The Secret War)

Robert Harris' novel "Enigma" gave me a few ideas for the scene settings, which I double checked in Wikipedia.

ATS: Auxiliary Transport Service. (see Wikipedia)

Fist: A radio operator's style of Morse. The distinctive way he/she works the transmit key.

The bomb rack change was also done to the Carpetbaggers' B-24s. (Wikipedia)

The Rafwaffe was real. (Wikipedia)

The Ju 88R-1 of the Rafwaffe defected in April 1943 and landed in Scotland , presenting a working example of the German radar, albeit the earlier FuG 202 Lichtenstein B/C, for the first time to the Allies. (Wikipedia)

RAF Ringway was the home of The Parachute Training School, as it was known at the time. More of it in the next chapter. (Wikipedia)


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N (1):** Time for the action to begin.

You guys are really awesome. Special thanks to all of you who keep encouraging me to continue.

For disclaimers see previous chapters.

* * *

**February 20****th**** 1944, Bern, Switzerland**

"Allen, they could conceivably ruin everything. Operation Gorgon can absolutely not take place before Operation Firefox is over. Tell them that the Germans will simply send that damned Junkers back to Rechlin if they insist on carrying out Gorgon before Firefox."

"I understand, Orion. Trust me; I'm with you on this one. It was a mistake to let the Brits in on the details of Gorgon at this stage. But we'll get them to see reason. I hope."

"I trust you'll do the right thing Allen. We are all on the same side here. Now, do our esteemed bosses have a cover plan worked out for my people and the OSS special operations team in France?"

"They are considering bombing that chateau the morning after it is raided."

"Sounds workable. Let me know if there are any developments."

"I will. You make sure your people continue to keep tabs on this Von Roark and his group."

"Don't worry Allen. I'll arrange another meeting if I have any worthwhile news."

**Tempsford, England**

"Hey Chuck, wait!" Sarah called out as he was heading for the door.

"Good morning Sarah. What can I do for you?"

"Are you forgetting something?"

"Huh? I am? What?"

"Just the most important meal of the day, bud," Devon said.

"Oh. Yeah, I totally forgot." He followed them to the dining room and queued up with the others to get his breakfast tray. He then sat down next to Sarah, Devon and Morgan.

"Chuck," she said, "about last night…"

"I know. Pre-mission jitters, right? No need to be ashamed of anything, it happens to everybody."

"How did you know?"

"I've picked up a few things here and there."

"That leaves just one unsolved mystery."

"I'm listening; I mean, if I can help…"

"I think you can. Last thing I remember is talking with you in the drawing room and this morning I found myself in my bed. Care to explain how this happened? As far as I know, I don't walk in my sleep. Sarah Walker is not a sleepwalker," she said and giggled with the intentional pun.

"That's right, you are not," he laughed. "I took you there. I wasn't about to let either of us get cramps by sleeping on the couch when you fell asleep on me."

"Thanks. Really, I mean it."

"It was nothing," he said absentmindedly. Sarah's rarely revealed girly side reminded him of Ellie.

"But there is something bothering you."

"It's Ellie. I promised I'd write, but I can't. If she sees any letters from me postmarked 'Great Britain', she'll get suspicious. She thinks my job keeps me in DC all the time."

"Uh, bro, this is not awesome. You should have told me about all that."

"Oh no. You sent her a letter?"

"I did, yesterday."

"Chuck, Devon, I wouldn't worry about any of this. Go ahead and write to Ellie all you want. Our mail is being handled by the OSS and there will be no hints as to our location."

"Good to see they are taking every precaution. OK then, I'll send her a letter sometime today."

None of them would have been as complacent if they had any inkling about the mistake they, Chuck and Morgan that is, had made back in DC. When Morgan had been asked at the OSS photo lab to provide a mailing address where the pictures would be sent, Chuck suggested they use his own, meaning his post office box in Burbank, to which only he had access. However, by not mentioning it specifically, he unwittingly made Morgan, who was completely unaware of its existence, just put in Chuck's home address.

**Burbank CA**

Ellie had just returned from her trip to the stores and was about to open the door when the mailman called out to her. He handed her a large express mail envelope which had Morgan as the sender. Thinking it contained letters from her brother, his best friend and her fiancé, she sat down in the living room and opened it.

One can imagine her surprise and shock at seeing photographs of her loved ones and the other people she'd met in DC in various phases of combat training. She could only stare wide eyed at those that showed Chuck at the firing range, practicing with a variety of weapons. There were even some photos taken in Fort Benning, documenting various phases of parachute training, all of them bearing the logo of the US Army Signal Corps in one corner. Her baby brother had been parachute qualified? And had been training with firearms? He had obviously taken instruction in combat tactics as well. And Sarah, the sweet girl she'd thought was just another colleague of Chuck's was also in uniform and obviously very familiar with guns, knives and explosives. Not to mention Devon, pictured doing the same things as the others.

Despite the shock, she could not help but smile when she saw photos of Chuck and Sarah together. Whether in uniform or in civilian clothes, what she saw confirmed that the two were very close. She was further cheered up by the photos taken during the time she'd been in DC with them.

"Chuck, Devon, you two have a lot to answer for when you get back," she said aloud, fuming at being lied to by the two men she loved most. Venting her anger helped her think clearly. Chuck, Devon, Morgan, Sarah and the rest were obviously involved in something very much secret, she knew this was definitely the case. She carefully sorted the photographs, placing them in two separate piles. One contained the harmless snapshots which anyone could see without suspecting what the people in them were up to. All the rest went to the second pile and these would remain hidden until it was safe to get them out.

She leaned back on the couch, closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. She would have to go out and buy frames for the photos she could safely display. The rest would be hidden in a box under a loose floorboard in her bedroom. Getting up, she picked up the two piles of pictures and went to her room to put the second pile away. The task completed, she then went out, not only to buy the aforementioned frames, but also to find Anna and tell her about Morgan. She knew the Asian woman would be thrilled to finally get news of him.

**RAF Ringway, ****near Manchester, England**

The home of the Parachute School was a hive of activity. Training of paras for the upcoming return of the Allies to Europe was in full swing. The PV-1 bringing Team Intersect to the new locale had just landed right behind a RAF Dakota. Second Lieutenant Forrest had accompanied them, as their liaison with the British. They all noticed the arrival of their aircraft had drawn quite a crowd. It was only to be expected as the Navy paint scheme by itself was considered noteworthy in that place.

Fortunately, as SOE agents received parachute training there as well, nobody took more than a passing interest in them. The only problem was the fact they still had several hours to kill before nightfall. Casey tried to solve the problem by suggesting they make a daylight jump first. Sarah objected to the idea, citing the fact that they would have to repack their parachutes to jump again at night, but Casey overruled her and stated he'd had no less than three sets of parachutes for each one of them loaded in the Ventura back in Alconbury. Therefore they could make a couple of practice jumps and still have a spare set each. And if they needed more, it was all just a phone call away. Sarah, after hearing about this, agreed, but complained to Casey that as second in command she should have been told in advance. He apologized and assured her it had just slipped his mind with all the preparations for the move to Tempsford. She understood; he was a good CO and tried to make sure she was up to speed on everything, but such was the burden of command that sometimes a few things were overlooked, fortunately none of them mission critical. She and Casey were too good for that.

They were all walking around, trying to find someone to ask about getting maps of Ringway's designated drop zones, when they crossed paths a tall mustachioed man who was wearing a British camouflaged paratrooper's smock over the standard battle dress and a maroon beret and carried a cane.

"Hello chaps," he said, addressing Casey. "How may I help you? You look new here. Roy Urquhart's the name, old boy."

"John Casey," he replied, shaking hands with Urquhart. "Yes, I was hoping if you could tell us where to find maps of the local drop zones. Our flight crew needs them."

"Ah, you must be the Yanks who just arrived in that American Navy kite, eh?"

"Yeah, we were thinking of making a couple of jumps here, you know, to keep in shape." Casey waved his hand around and, out of the corner of his eye, noticed Cole trying to get his attention. "What is it, Barker?" Cole quickly whispered something in Casey's ear, causing him to pale a little. Coming to his senses, he bellowed "General on deck!" and they all automatically snapped to attention.

"No worries, Colonel, after all, my rank is hidden under this," Urquhart said, tugging at his smock after returning Casey's sharp salute. "We'll find someone to help you get what you need."

"Thank you sir."

"So you people are here for some special hush-hush operation?"

"How did you know sir?"

"The lovely young lady here; she wouldn't be in battle dress otherwise."

"Sarah Walker of the OSS, General," she said, introducing herself.

"Enchanted, Miss Walker."

Urquhart was then introduced to Forrest and proceeded to inspect the small party, moving from one man to the next.

"Captain Devon Woodcomb, United States Army Air Forces, sir!"

"Lieutenant Cole Barker, Special Air Service, sir!" The General was pleased to see a Britisher in the group.

"Second Lieutenant Charles Bartowski, United States Army Air Forces, sir!"

"Staff Sergeant Bryce Larkin, United States Army, sir!"

"Sergeant Morgan Grimes, French Foreign Legion, sir!"

"That's quite a diverse group you have here Colonel."

"Yes sir, but they are all well trained and ready, sir."

"Say, Colonel, in addition to your jumps, would you like a ride in a Horsa?"

"A horse, sir?" Casey sounded confused. He wasn't sure he'd heard Urquhart correctly with all the noise from aircraft engines around them.

"No, Colonel, I was talking about a glider, the Airspeed Horsa. That sweet engineless kite over there." He pointed his cane to a sleek looking glider, whose sides and undersurfaces were painted matte black and the usual British sand-and-spinach, dark earth and dark green that is, camouflage adorned the planform.

"I think we'll take you up on your offer, sir. It will certainly be an experience."

"Sir?"

"Yes, Sergeant Grimes?"

"Are we allowed to take photos? It's my hobby, you know, sir."

"Be my guest."

"Thank you sir."

Urquhart led the team to a building where he got them the maps they needed and, by coincidence, they met a couple of SOE people who proved willing to use their Eureka emitter and S-Phone to mark the DZ for the Ventura's crew later. The necessary arrangements having been made, Casey thanked the General again and they marched over to a waiting Horsa glider, which had its tow rope attached and hooked on to a Short Stirling Mk IV tug. They quickly took their seats inside the fuselage, which was essentially a wooden tube, and listened carefully to the instructions given by the crew. Takeoff was quite interesting, as was the flight to the landing zone. It was far quieter than a conventional powered aircraft, allowing them to have normal conversations. They did not even realize when the tow rope was disconnected and the Horsa was flying on its own.

"Brace yourselves chaps, we're going in," called the pilot from the extensively glazed front 'office'. They had been told, only half jokingly, that a glider landing is very much like a controlled crash, so they obeyed and tensed. The landing itself was a bit anticlimactic. Touchdown was a bit jarring, but nothing much or worrying. The pilot thanked them, airline style, for flying in his glider and opened the door for them. They gathered near the glider and waited for a truck to take them back to Ringway.

When they returned to the airfield, they strapped on their parachutes and Grafton took them to the predetermined drop zone. Normal procedure was followed and the jump went off without a hitch. Another truck was waiting to take them back again. They had supper at the base and marked time until the time came to make their night jump.

Later, they were once again airborne in the PV-1, approaching the same drop zone as before. Grafton was talking to the men on the ground over the S-Phone, while his navigator checked their course on both the Rebecca and the S-Phone dials. The readings told them the equipment worked as advertised and they were flying along the intended path. Casey again repeated the standard pre-jump commands and when Grafton and Barlow spotted the lights marking the DZ ordered the stinger gunner to open the door. When the green light came on, the team jumped with practiced precision.

Most had been accustomed to jumping in daylight, only Sarah having night jumps under her belt, of which one was an operational jump, and so they had feared the possibility of disorientation, but fortunately there was more than enough ambient light to enable them to see the ground and discern the horizon. They landed smoothly, gathered their parachutes and trudged to where the truck was waiting to take them back to their aircraft which had in the meantime returned to Ringway. There was no time wasted after the day's tasks had been completed. They flew back to Tempsford, where the Ventura was entrusted to its assigned ground crew, while the flight crew and the team retired to their digs.

Casey and Sarah had another one of their planning sessions and this time Alex joined them. She had just informed her superiors in London that the team was finally ready and had gotten the green light to proceed with the mission when conditions were favorable. This time they were reviewing the all important weather forecasts. Their contacts in France had already submitted considerable data on conditions prevailing on the ground in the most convenient drop zones, mostly concerning wind speed and direction. As soon as moonlight and wind conditions were forecasted as ideal, they would go ahead with the mission. Tomorrow's preliminary forecast looked good, but they'd have to wait until later to get the definitive information. Casey decided to have them on standby to begin the mission tomorrow and Sarah concurred. They were as ready as they would ever be. Now the mission's start was in the hands of SHAEF's meteorologists.

When Casey adjourned the meeting, after receiving the awaited confirmation on favorable weather conditions, Sarah went to get a drink, and sat down in the drawing room, lost in her thoughts. Tomorrow they would be going to France. It took all her self control to suppress the urge to grab Chuck, take him to her room and let him have his way with her. She could not quite nail it down, but she knew that her feelings for the tall lanky engineer went far beyond a mere physical attraction. Her deepest fear was she might never get the chance to do something about it. She decided there was no point in thinking about it anyway. She had a roommate and so did he. No way would they manage to be alone.

She downed the rest of her Scotch with one big gulp and went to the garden. She found Chuck there. He was looking in the direction of the airfield, much like she was the night before. As she approached him, she could tell he was not worried. If anything, he seemed to be ready, almost eager, to go. His natural optimism was contagious. She smiled too when he turned and smiled brightly at her.

"A penny for your thoughts," she said.

"Nothing much; I was just taking in the view, thinking about the mission. I almost can't believe we are ready."

"We've come a long way, Chuck, all of us and especially you. Not too long ago you were just a civilian. And now you are a trained soldier."

"Soldier? I thought you might say 'spy'."

"No. You are definitely not a spy, Chuck. Jill, Alex and I are spies, but the rest of you are soldiers."

"Thanks for clarifying."

"Chuck?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't let all this change you. Don't lose the guy I bumped into on that day back in Castle." She was looking straight into his chocolate brown eyes as she said that. Her cobalt blue orbs were full of emotion, emotion her facial expression did not fully convey, but it was there. He locked his arms around her waist and pulled her close before leaning in and capturing her lips in his. It was by no means a lustful kiss. It was slow, chaste, warm and reassuring. Her arms went slowly on his back, pulling him even closer until their bodies were pressed together. He broke the kiss and looked at her again.

"I'll always be that guy," he promised her. She believed him. They hugged tightly, her head resting on his shoulder. A short while later they reentered the house and went to their rooms.

Casey had just happened to look out a window and saw them in the garden. A knowing smile appeared on his face. When he and Walker had first met she'd given him the impression of being an ice queen, which she actually was, at least until Bartowski came along. Little by little the kid tore down her defenses until the girl she kept imprisoned inside her started breaking free. But then again, Bartowski had this effect on everyone. It was virtually impossible not to like the guy once you got to know him. All the verbal abuse Casey had heaped on him during training was not out of malice, but to prod him into exploiting his full potential.

**Occupied France**

Carina and Ilsa were in the secret basement of their farmhouse, listening to the French language program of the BBC, as they did every night. They paid particular attention to the 'personal messages', short, invariably meaningless phrases, which however were all important to resistants and Allied agents.

There were a few specific code phrases pertaining to the operations they would partake in. When they heard the phrase 'L' oiseau a volé la voiture', they looked at each other and nodded. The innocuous and completely pointless phrase 'the bird has stolen the car' meant that the operation was a go and would commence tomorrow night.

In the morning Carina would have to go into town to get in touch with her Resistance friends and arrange for a welcoming committee for the expected parachutage, as the agent and supply drops were known in French.

**February 21****st**** 1944, Tempsford, England**

The time after breakfast was one of hectic activity. The supply and equipment canisters were already loaded in the Ventura's bomb bay. They were now checking and rechecking their weapons and equipment. Casey had his .45, in addition to a Thompson submachine gun and, as an extra, a M1E7 sniper rifle from a trials batch issued to the Army. Devon, Sarah and Cole had each chosen a Thompson and a .45 pistol as well. Bryce, on the basis of his combat experience, preferred a Browning Automatic Rifle. In Sicily he'd been lucky enough to have a commercial Model 1924 version and when he found a Colt R80 Monitor in Castle he summarily appropriated it. It was shorter than a standard BAR and thus more convenient to jump with and handle in confined spaces. The huge Cutts compensator ensured adequate control on full auto, while the pistol grip and redesigned handguard made for more comfortable handling. Chuck and Morgan preferred Winchester M1A1 carbines, which were light and easy to carry and handle, ideal considering their assigned tasks within the team. They had also been issued pistols.

In addition to these weapons, they also packed a De Lisle silenced carbine and some more silenced weapons as well as a selection of explosives and detonators plus a bazooka and its ammunition, just in case.

With all the preparations time passed quickly and soon they were waiting in the famous Gibraltar Farm, the final dispatch point, essentially the 'departure lounge' for agents before boarding the plane to Europe. There, Casey thanked Alex and the Ventura's ground crew for all their invaluable assistance. He then assembled his team and the flight crew and congratulated them on their achievements so far and gave them a short pre-mission pep talk. He made a point of shaking hands with each and every one of them in the end of his short speech, before they put their parachutes on, collected their gear, waved goodbye to Alex Forrest and marched to the aircraft which was waiting fully fueled and armed.

**Occupied France**

Carina had led the Maquisards to a large clearing deep in the forest, which was suitable not only for parachute drops, but also for aircraft landings and takeoffs. There, Louis prepared their Eureka emitter and erected its antenna, while Carina fiddled with the S-Phone. The others arranged the three red marker lamps approximately one hundred meters apart in a line and pulled security, while Ilsa stood off about forty five meters to the side with another lamp, ready to signal the aircraft with the identifying code letters, the top of the inverted L formed by the four lights pointing into the wind. Although there was practically no chance of the Germans finding them, they all moved quietly and purposefully, out of habit. Once they were satisfied all was in order, they settled down to wait, bundled up against the cold.

**Over ****Occupied France**

"Devil five-oh-five is feet dry," reported Grafton over the intercom to Casey as they flew over the coast. He advanced the throttles a little further towards their stops. The PV-1 had sufficient fuel to allow for extended periods at high power settings, as their destination was close enough to England. After takeoff Grafton had Barlow switch the fuel feed from the main tanks to the teardrop shaped 165 gallon drop tanks. Once empty, they would be jettisoned to reduce drag.

The Ventura soon dove for the deck to make it more difficult for the Germans to track and impossible to acquire on radar. At one point an enemy antiaircraft gun opened up at them and the stinger gunner returned fire with his twin .30 caliber machine guns, engaging it in a spirited duel, scoring several hits and silencing it. Casey, who'd seen it all, promptly congratulated the man for his success.

After a while Grafton climbed to enable Cole to get a better radar picture of the terrain below. The experienced navigator quickly plotted their position on his map and announced they were approximately one hundred miles from the drop zone. At fifty miles they would be within range of the Eureka transmitter on the ground. Barlow would switch the Rebecca on when they would be about sixty miles out.

"Bogey, seven o'clock high," announced the turret gunner. Grafton twisted in his seat and glimpsed a Messerschmitt 110 night fighter clearly visible above and behind them. At their altitude they would be easy to pick up on radar. The enemy aircraft dove towards them. Grafton pushed the yoke forward and firewalled the throttles, but the German pilot's position negated any advantage the speed of the PV-1 gave them.

"Break left!" called the gunner as a stream of 20 mm cannon fire passed harmlessly behind them as the evasive maneuver spoiled the German's aim. The top turret rotated and its twin fifties stuttered as the gunner tracked the Messerschmitt and opened fire. The enemy pilot, believing he was up against a lightly armed RAF aircraft, made the mistake of getting too close. The half inch rounds peppered his underside and set an auxiliary fuel tank and an engine ablaze. The Messerschmitt seemed to hang poised in the air for a moment, before it spiraled earthwards and exploded in a blinding fireball. The intercom reverberated with the triumphant yells of the American crew as Grafton confirmed his gunner's kill. Casting another look around, Grafton brought them back to their original course and reduced power.

The interrogating pulses of the Rebecca soon prompted the Eureka emitter to start sending out its own coded pulses. Cole's eyes were glued to the dial, giving Grafton the necessary course corrections. A short while later they also began to pick up emissions from the S-Phone. They were outside voice range, but right now the deceptively small device Carina carried strapped on her body functioned as a supplementary homing beacon.

Grafton descended to five hundred feet and continued flying towards the point indicated by the instruments. The image on the radar scope confirmed they were still on course. Voice contact with the welcoming committee was attained when they were six miles out. Casey ordered them to get ready, hook up and perform the equipment check. Approaching closer Grafton and Barlow could now see the three red lights and a single flashing white light as Ilsa beamed the identifying letter D in Morse.

Grafton deployed the flaps and slowed to just above the aircraft's stall speed as Cole secured the door open. When above the second red light, the signal to jump was given.

"Go, go, go, go!" Casey bellowed. Cole Barker, Devon, Bryce, and Morgan exited the aircraft first. Just as Chuck was about to follow them, he turned and looked at Sarah. Even in the dim light cast by a single red bulb she was almost certain she saw him silently tell her 'I love you' before he was swallowed up by the night as he launched himself out. She froze for a split second and then, snapping back to reality, she too jumped, Casey being the last one out.

Ground conditions were ideal; there was no wind to speak of and so dispersion of the parachutists was minimal. They rolled up their chutes after landing and ran out of the way as the Ventura circled and went in again to drop the supply canisters. The six cylindrical containers dropped from the bomb bay and descended slowly to the clearing below. Then the aircraft departed, flying on a southeasterly course to confuse any enemy observers before it would reverse course and return to England.

On the ground, Sarah pitched in along with the others to recover the supplies from the containers and bury the incriminating evidence.

"Welcome to France," said a feminine voice, in English. Sarah gasped. She knew that voice.

"Carina?"

"No way!"

"Carina, it's me, Sarah. Sarah Walker."

"Well, Walker," Carina said, acknowledging the name change, "long time no see. We'll talk later. Right now, gather your stuff and come with me."

Within minutes there was no trace left in the clearing to betray what had just happened. Team Intersect and the Maquisards marched into the forest before they stopped. There they would split up and proceed separately to their destinations.

Carina led the new arrivals to her place and ushered them inside the barn. A hidden trapdoor opened to reveal a large underground chamber. They all descended the sturdy ladder and deposited their packs and weapons on the hard-packed dirt floor.

"Who is in charge here?" Carina asked.

"I am. Colonel John Casey, United States Marine Corps."

"Agent Carina Miller of the OSS. This is my friend and partner Ilsa Trinchina. Nice to meet you, Colonel, she said with a charming smile."

"The pleasure is all mine, Agent Miller, I've heard you are one of the best," Casey replied gentlemanly as he shook her hand.

"Carina, Casey is married, so stop drooling," Sarah joked. The introductions to the others followed. Sarah silently let Carina know who were unavailable like Casey. For some unfathomable reason she included Chuck in this category along with Devon and Bryce. Okay, not so unfathomable; she knew she'd be very uncomfortable if the incorrigible Carina made a move on Chuck. She admitted as much to herself.

While the others were getting ready to bed down for the night, Carina cornered Sarah for a talk.

"So, it's Sarah Walker now, huh? What happened to Sam Burton?"

"Let's just say she has too many fans in the Abwehr, the Gestapo and the SD. And for heavens' sake don't ever say this name out loud again!"

"And they made you change your name in order not to attract undue attention?"

"Yes, although I did not learn that until later. At first I thought it was unusual to give me such an order."

"Any news from the States?"

"Nothing much; just the usual."

"What about that cute guy, Chuck, isn't it? I've seen how you look at him."

"He's my best friend."

"He's your best friend… Sam… sorry, Sarah, I'm very disappointed in you. If I were you, I'd have fucked him so many times he'd be unable to walk right now."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Well, too bad you say he's taken. Wait a minute! You want him, don't you?"

"Get real Carina!"

"Sarah, I've known you for far too long. And I can tell when you like a guy. I can see it in your eyes. You're just too damn chicken to do anything about it. Plus I know he really likes you too. And he looks like such a nice guy."

"Carina, just stop, Okay? We're not here as tourists. We've got a job to do. And speaking of the job, what's with this partner of yours? She doesn't talk much, but I can tell she's not French. She's not American or British either."

"It's a long and sad story, Sarah."

"I'm all ears."

"Ilsa is Russian, from Moscow. She had a job in Smolensk. After the Nazis occupied it, she was taken and sent to Germany as slave labor. She would have ended up a servant to some wealthy Prussian family, or in some troop brothel, or I don't know where, but she managed to escape from a train. She crossed a large part of Germany on foot, all alone, and made it into France. I found her not far from Metz. She was in a bad shape by then, but she's fine now. She speaks English and I taught her French. She's now posing as my maid."

"Oh shit… poor girl… I had no idea."

"Now all that matters to her is helping defeat the Krauts. She used to be so serious all the time, but I managed to get her to lighten up. She's even got her sense of humor back."

"What about you?"

"Me? I'm supposed to be this Swedish girl who fell in love with a Frenchman and his country, married him but unfortunately was widowed before the war. I moved here last year to help the Resistance with supply and organizational matters. Now tell me about you."

"I became Agent Walker and this is my first assignment after I got my new identity."

"That's it?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

When they finished talking Carina showed the team the emergency escape tunnel which led into the woods, the connecting tunnel to her secret basement and explained the signaling system connecting the underground chamber to the house. Then she and Ilsa left them to rest. They would reconvene to begin the next phase of the operation.

* * *

**A/N (2) Some more history: **General Roy Urquhart was a real person. Sean Connery portrayed him in the movie _A Bridge Too Far_.

The Horsa is my favorite WW II glider. I even have a nifty Testors 1/72 scale kit of it, which I'll get to build sometime. Wikipedia has good info and photos.

The Stirling Mk IV was a dedicated glider tug/paratroop transport/cloak and dagger version of the first RAF four-engine 'heavy'. (Wikipedia is a convenient source of information.)

SHAEF: Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Forces. The Normandy landings were planned and orchestrated there.

The stuff about the personal messages broadcast by the BBC is real. (Time- Life Books op. cit. and _Secret Broadcast - "Personal messages" on propaganda stations_ in Wikipedia.)

The M1E7 was officially adopted and standardized as the M1C in June 1944. Before that date it was still under test, hence the 'E' part of the designation. (Wikipedia)

Wikipedia also has information on the BAR. There is a famous Life photo of Rangers in action in Sicily showing either a Model 1924 or 1925 commercial BAR in use with the US Army. The Colt Monitor was built in limited numbers, about 125, most going to the FBI and some ending up in Argentina.

M1A1 Carbine: It's the Paratrooper model with folding metal buttstock.

I tried to describe the approach tactics and communications for the drop as well as possible. (Source: Pierre Lorain, op. cit.)


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N (1):** I don't think I have kept you waiting too long for this chapter. I had a flash of inspiration and included another evil twist in the plot.

The disclaimers have already been covered (repeatedly), so I'll leave you to enjoy the story as it continues to unfold.

* * *

**February 22****nd**** 1944, Occupied France**

One of the great advantages of living in a rural area, even in wartime, is that many shortages are far less noticeable than in a city. Sure, there was no gas readily available for civilian use, thus forcing Carina and Ilsa to rely on their bicycles and their own two feet to get around. Carina did have a Citroën sedan which had been modified by fitting it with a wood burning gazogène, but it was currently sitting in a shed, waiting for scarce parts to repair the gearbox. The town mechanic had promised to have them soon.

Still, food was plentiful, being produced locally, and, most importantly, unrationed. Both Carina and Ilsa were city girls, but it didn't prevent them from adapting to life in the country. In fact, they were managing just fine. The hired hands who worked the farm had been handpicked and most all were actively involved with the resistance. An added advantage of producing their own foodstuffs was that they needed not make unusually large purchases in the town market when they had 'guests', something that could jeopardize them if someone noticed.

They had just finished making breakfast in the kitchen for the newly arrived Team Intersect. Ilsa did a quick check of the road outside and, not seeing anyone, gave the all clear to Carina. Together they went to the secret basement and from there, through the connecting tunnel, to the underground hideout where Sarah, Casey and the others had spent the night.

Cole was standing guard and tensed when he heard people approaching, but immediately relaxed when he saw them.

"Good morning everyone," Carina said cheerfully. "Breakfast's ready. Dig in."

"Thank you," said Casey. "Bartowski!"

"Yes?"  
"Go wake your sleeping beauty over there," he said, indicating the partitioned space where Sarah slept.

"Let her sleep a little longer," said Carina. "I came back to see her after you guys went to bed and we stayed up late talking. She and I go back a long way and we had a lot of catching up to do. Unless of course you want to discuss business, Colonel."

"Do you have any worthwhile news for us, Agent Miller?"

"No, not really; nothing's changed since my last report. I assume you had the chance to study it in England."

"Yes, and I feel I must commend you. Your reports are always concise."

"Thank you Colonel, but a lot of the credit must go to my associates. I could not do it without them."

"Hey, Carina. When did you get down here?"

"Sarah? Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I've rested enough. Besides, I always wanted to sample your cooking."

"I hate to disappoint you, but Ilsa cooked today."

"Ladies, if you are through with the small talk, some of us would like to get some chow and then go ahead with the day's business."

**Berlin, Germany**

"You asked to see me, Herr Reichsführer?"

"Yes, Gruppenführer Von Roark, I did. I would like an update on the progress of the preparations for Operation Fulcrum, but make it quick, I'm rather pressed for time," Himmler said.

"Herr Reichsführer, training of Standartenführer Keller's team is progressing smoothly. There is, however, one problem."

"I'm listening."

"We do not have enough information on our targets. We mostly know who to go after, but we have no intelligence whatsoever on their locations, itineraries and the like."

"This is an unnecessary complication, Gruppenführer."

"Jawohl, Herr Reichsführer. It is most frustrating, but not getting any cooperation from either Canaris or Schellenberg is downright infuriating."

"Leave Schellenberg to me, although I don't really think he has anything useful to add."

Von Roark appeared thoughtful. He would not tell Himmler he was already aware of this fact through the people he had inside the Ausland-SD. Hell, he even had informants in every branch of the SS, up to and including the Reichsführer's own staff. The labyrinthine Nazi inner politics and the intrigue inherent in such a system made it all a necessity. Instead, he hedged.

"Herr Reichsführer, it is a well known fact that the Ausland-SD does not have an intelligence gathering apparatus in England. The Abwehr, however, has an established network which has been functioning efficiently for quite a while now. I would appreciate it if you could help ensure Canaris' cooperation."

"I'll do my best, but don't get your hopes up. Maybe you still remember the rivalry between the Abwehr and the SD since Heydrich's time."

"That I do, Herr Reichsführer. But there must be some way to get the information we need."

"I have a meeting with the Führer later today. I will talk to him and I'm certain he'll order Canaris to give you his full cooperation. You know how high his expectations are for Operation Fulcrum."

"Danke Sehr, Herr Reichsführer. I would also like to request priority for certain supplies Standartenführer Keller has deemed necessary, mostly concerning captured enemy materiel."

"You can leave a list with my aide. And the matter will be dealt with expeditiously. Is there anything else?"

"No, Herr Reichsführer."

"Very well then. If anything comes up do not hesitate to come see me. I will also expect regular progress reports."

"Zu befehl, Herr Reichsführer." Von Roark rose to leave. He clicked his heels and gave the Nazi salute. "Heil Hitler!"

"Heil Hitler!"

Neither Himmler non Von Roark knew that the Abwehr's entire network in England was not what it seemed. In fact the British had caught and turned or executed virtually all the agents sent to spy on them. Many of the aforementioned agents, who came from occupied countries, had actually offered their services to the British from the moment they arrived in the UK. And they were feeding false information to Germany under the auspices of the Twenty Committee, colloquially known as the Double Cross Committee, after the Roman numerals XX.

**Washington DC**

"Good morning Diane. Any news from Colonel Casey and our lovely Agent Walker?"

"Ah, as a matter of fact yes, Roan, Lieutenant Forrest sent a message from London. The Colonel's team parachuted in France last night and met up with the local OSS contact."

"Thank you Diane. I suppose I'll just have to see Donovan and tell him the news."

"Speaking of Donovan, how did he take it?"

"He was too quick to dismiss my complaint about the liberties this egghead Fleming took with a member of a unit under my command. Apparently he even authorized it himself. I don't like when things like this happen behind my back, Diane. Are we all on the same side here, or not?"

"One might say there is a bright side to it, though."

"I read the reports Diane. Our boy Bartowski has so far assisted the FBI in breaking up a spy ring here in Washington and has identified an enemy operative just after he stepped off the plane in England. So this Intersect, and for the life of me I can't understand why Fleming used the same codename as the one we gave the team, has proven its worth."

"Bartowski may prove to be a liability, Roan."

"Why's that?"

"I did some checking. Apparently the FBI agent who led the operation that resulted in the capture of Leader and Sullivan is one Jack Burton."

"So?"

"Special Agent Jack Burton is the father of one Samantha Burton."

"I've heard of her. She's one of ours."

"Do you know that she and Sarah Walker…"

"What about them?"

"Sarah Walker _is_ Samantha Burton."

"Come again?"

"Agent Burton changed her name to Sarah Walker when she returned to the US after the fiasco in Paris. Her original identity was compromised while on an operation with F Section SOE there."

"And she changed her name in order to be able to continue being an agent?"

"Yes. Any mention of Ms. Burton would attract too much attention if the wrong people heard it."

"Let me get this straight, Bartowski may be a risk to Walker and to the whole operation because you think he knows Walker's true identity?"

"He has met her father. And I don't think he knows him as 'Jack Walker'. All he has to do is let slip he's working with Burton who goes by the name Walker now and then our people will be neck-deep in it."

"No, Diane, I know what you are going to tell me. I'm not going to have Miller, Casey or Walker eliminate Bartowski just because you fancy him a security risk. At the most I'll keep him out of future operations once Firefox is over, because, face it, we need him for it. The kid is now Donovan's fair haired boy too, for cryin' out loud!"

**Occupied France**

"For starters, Carina, how many people do you have at your disposal?"

"It's not like I'm in command here, Sarah. I'm just the chef du parachutage, which is a fancy title for 'supply coordinator'. I can still make suggestions for certain operations, however. Anyway, the local Maquis section consists of about fifty men."

"Isn't that too few?"

"No, Colonel, believe me, it's an average number. These fifty are just a section of a larger unit. There are several dozens more waiting to be called to take up arms later, when the circumstances are favorable. So far we have kept a low profile to avoid reprisals on the civilian population. It's not like we have much to do here; there are not that many Germans. Until recently the airfield was the only significant enemy presence here."

"And now those bastards at the chateau. How are you doing equipment wise?"

"We have been receiving some supplies from SOE. Thus, the local section is fairly well armed. We have Lee-Enfield rifles, Sten and Schmeisser SMGs, Bren machine guns, basically what you'd expect to see in a regular military unit, plus explosives and other equipment. The Maquisards even wear uniforms. The commander is a former French Army officer."

"I hope we won't have to ask for their help on this mission. I'm not comfortable with involving the resistance too much."

"Suit yourself Sarah. But let me tell you, the people here are on the up and up. The last collaborator had a really nasty, and fatal, accident with farm equipment, courtesy of his own family no less."

Carina paused to light a Gitane and looked around the assembled team. They were all paying attention, ready to interject with their own questions if they felt something needed to be further clarified. Their attitude was the hallmark of a well trained, professional outfit. She blew some smoke towards the ceiling and waited for Casey to continue.

"The photographs of our targets were taken by you, if I'm not mistaken, Agent Miller."

"Yes, Colonel, they were. Oh, and I have something here to truly make your day."

"What is it?"

"Schematics of the chateau, showing a secret passage, courtesy of the late Dr. LaFleur."

"The _late_ Dr. LaFleur?"

"He was the Count's family physician before the Germans commandeered the chateau. He knew it by heart inside and out. Unfortunately he was recently killed in an automobile accident. The Gendarmerie reported he must have fallen asleep at the wheel while returning from a call to a nearby village."

"Let's see those schematics."

"Here they are, Colonel. As you can see, the passage leads from the Count's quarters to beyond the wood line. And, according to the notes, it was still passable as of last year. No cave-ins or other obstructions."

"Do the Krauts know about it?"

"We don't think so. I mean, the Count is a patriot. He would never tell them anything. These other papers show the interior configuration of the chateau. The annotations are mine, based on my observations, regarding the accommodation arrangements for the SS garrison and the big shots they are guarding."

"Hmmm, according to your reports, there are seven enemy operatives there…"

"Yes. And they wear Wehrmacht uniforms when they go into town. They don't like to call attention to themselves. One of them, a Lieutenant Colonel Stromberg, even made a pass at me."

The mention of Stromberg's name caused Chuck to flash. Carina did not notice, but Casey and Sarah did.

"Have you read the Kraut's file, numb nuts?" Casey asked pointedly.

"What? Uh, yes, I have. Here's a summary: Karl Stromberg, currently holding the rank of Obersturmbannführer, or Lieutenant Colonel in the SS, recruited by the Ring Abteilung in mid 1943. Formerly served in the 2nd SS Panzer Division Das Reich, wounded in action on the Eastern Front. Selected for operation Fulcrum because he speaks excellent English, having studied in Oxford University. All in all he's a fanatical Nazi and a ruthless killer; he even has committed his share of war crimes to prove it. And he apparently has a weakness for pretty redheads."

"OK, Bartowski, that's enough. Miller, what information can you give us on the garrison?"

"There are twenty-five men, all from the 12th SS Hitlerjugend Panzer Division. They are never allowed to go to the town."

"Why's that?"

"Would you trust a bunch of eighteen-year-olds to keep a low profile and, more importantly, keep their mouths shut? Give me five minutes with one of them and he'll tell us all we want to know and then some without me even having to undress."

"We get it, Carina, you always excelled at seduction."

"Could you ladies stay on topic, please? Thank you. Miller, are these the defensive installations?"

"Yes. A sandbagged machine gun pit by the gate, and a couple of other positions here and here, providing all round observation."

"We need not worry about being seen from there. But when the shooting starts, we can expect the whole garrison to converge inside. Leave the schematics here. I'll work on a comprehensive plan with Walker later today."

"OK. Is there anything else you want, Colonel?"

"About the airfield; the permanent defensive installations are well known thanks to your photographs, but I would like to know more about the other measures, patrols, sentries and the like."

"There are sentries posted at the gate and at other places which I have marked, but the perimeter is patrolled by armored vehicles. We have PIAT antitank weapons, so taking them out should be easy."

"We have a bazooka too, but I'd prefer not to have to fight our way into the airfield."

"You didn't tell me, Colonel, what exactly do you want to do there?"

"We plan on stealing one particular aircraft."

"Let me guess; a Junkers night fighter, which is somewhat different than the others."

"You noticed it?"

"Not me. A man from the local Resistance works at the airfield and he noticed your unique aircraft. It comes here frequently."

"Good thing your friends managed to sabotage it without doing any permanent damage."

"I'll pass your congratulations on."

"Thank you. If there is anything else, I'll let you know. Now I'd like to brief my team."

"Certainly, Colonel. You know how the signal system works."

**East Prussia, on the ****Baltic Sea coast**

The two men watched through their binoculars as a Fieseler Fi 103 flying bomb plunged into a field and exploded.

"Three times out of three, Herr Ominsky," said the taller of the two. Not bad for prototype systems."

"Thank you, Sturmbannführer Bergey. Although, the credit belongs exclusively to Dr. Busgang. He is the one who designed both the ground transmitter and the homing device."

"Still, you did supervise the trials. And from what I have seen so far, the bomb never strays more than twenty meters from its aiming point."

"Yes, the equipment is very accurate."

"I have one question, Herr Ominsky; wouldn't the emissions from the ground unit be detected and jammed, or lead to the discovery of the device?"

"It is possible, yes. But this is why I suggested to Dr. Busgang that an activation by timer feature should be added. All your people will have to do is hide the device and set the timer to start transmitting after a preset waiting period. Then the receiver on the bomb will steer it towards the source of the signal. Each transmitter will be giving off a different signal and each homer will be tuned to seek out only one particular signal, so that multiple targets can be attacked simultaneously."

"This is ingenious, Herr Ominsky."

"Thank you. I suppose we can return to Brüsterort now, Herr Sturmbannführer. We must inform Berlin and then arrange for the transportation of the complete operational systems to France."

"By all means, Mein Herr, it's really cold out here. The Schnapps is on me."

"The best offer I've had all day. I simply cannot refuse."

**Berlin, Germany**

When Von Roark's aide brought him Bergey's message from Brüsterort, he read it carefully and then took the time to compose a reply and then a quick note to inform Keller of the latest developments before picking up his phone to call Himmler. The good news might give an added impetus to getting the information he needed.

**Beaumanor Hall, England**

The complete exchange of messages between the Brüsterort test facility, Berlin and the Ring chateau in France was intercepted by the Beaumanor listening station. The operator who monitored the frequencies and wrote down the enciphered messages was none other than Hannah. The intercepts then followed the established route; by teleprinter to Bletchley park where they would be decrypted and translated and then on to the joint SOE/OSS offices in London for analysis.

**Occupied France**

Casey had made every effort to cover all the bases during the briefing. For the moment he placed emphasis on the chateau. The airfield would be easy in comparison. He deliberately left Devon and Chuck out of the force that would hit the chateau. He could not afford to lose them if anything went wrong, as they were both needed to steal the Junkers. Instead he gave them the task of guarding the woods end of the secret passage to the chateau. He agreed with Sarah not to involve the Resistance in the operation. They also agreed to do some preliminary reconnaissance of the targets to try and see if the garrisons there followed any predictable patterns, which would make infiltration much easier.

Ilsa brought them lunch, which they enjoyed and complimented her cooking, eliciting a smile from the Russian girl. Cole even tried to use his charm on her, having been subtly encouraged to do so by Sarah earlier. It had the desired effect, as Ilsa began feeling more comfortable around them.

Once the dishes had been cleared away and taken upstairs to the farmhouse, Sarah asked Casey for permission to take a walk in the woods. He consulted with Carina before granting the request, on two conditions: she had to use the emergency escape tunnel to leave the premises unobserved and in addition she was not to go out alone. Chuck immediately volunteered to accompany her and geared up after she accepted his offer.

They made their way to the well hidden exit and, although it wasn't visible to anyone standing more than fifteen feet from it, carefully came out, weapons at the ready. The precautions were indeed overkill, but Sarah considered it good practice. They paused to get their bearings before walking together deeper into the woods.

"It's very nice out here Sarah," he said a few minutes later, breaking the silence.

"It is. I needed some fresh air; it was getting stuffy down there."

"Aha! Is the high and mighty Sarah Walker admitting she is claustrophobic? Because, if she is, she's done a damn good job hiding it."

"What? No, I'm most definitely not!"

"I know, I was just kidding. And it really was stuffy in there. Carina should have installed a better ventilation system."

"The one she has works okay. Not the best, but it'll have to do."

"Speaking of Carina, you two go back a long way together, am I right Sarah?"

"Yes. I must caution you, don't get the wrong impression about her. She's not the tart she often appears to be."

"In Washington I heard she is a very good agent."

"She is. And, like me, she's come into her own during this war. It's like we've both found our true calling."

"And your true calling is to be agents?"

"Yes."

"But the war is hopefully drawing to a close. I'd give it another year, a year and a half maybe, before it's over. What are you going to do then?"

"Chuck, a lot can happen during that time."

"Good things or bad things?"

"Both. I'm not kidding myself. You are lucky, Chuck. When this mission is over, you can go back to living a normal life."

"And what will happen to you then, Sarah? After we get back, that is?"

"There will be more missions for me."

"I don't know… I mean, I'll be glad when it's over. But I will miss all the excitement. No, don't say anything yet, Sarah," he said when he saw the look she gave him. "I know it's not a game. I know it's very dangerous, but… but I feel like I'm finally doing something more tangible, more useful than tinkering with electronics in a workshop and getting them flight tested all the time."

"Chuck, that 'tinkering' saves lives. You were not in uniform, getting shot at, like other guys your age. So what? That's no reason to feel guilty. You were helping make the tools which help win the war. Do not demean yourself Chuck. I won't let you do this to yourself."

"Your work is important too."

"My work… I was really lucky to get out of France alive on my last mission. Too many others did not make it. It's not glamorous or anything like you read in the spy novels or see in the movies. It's fraught with danger and you have to do horrible things to survive and get the job done. And I have done many horrible things."

"You did whatever it was you did for the greater good, Sarah. I will never judge you for it. We can't play the White Knight when the other side is using every dirty trick in the book and then some. But you still haven't answered my question."

"About my plans for after the war?" She was grateful he changed the subject.

"That one, yes."

"To tell you the truth, I don't know."

"You told me you went to Harvard. Surely you can find a worthwhile job."

"I think I'll leave thinking about it until the time comes, Chuck."

They had drifted close to the edge of the woods, having walked a considerable distance from where they started. Sarah had been leaving concealed markers behind so they would not get lost. It was still daylight and they could even see the chateau a few miles away.

"It will be dark soon, Sarah. I think we should be getting back."

"Let's go."

They walked quickly back to the tunnel, pausing only for Sarah to remove the markers she had placed. They found it easily and rejoined the rest of their team in time for another discussion on their operations.

"Walker, Bartowski, nice to see you have finally joined us again. We were just about to plot our target reconnaissance."

"I think I can help here, Casey. Chuck and I happened to walk to within a couple of miles from the chateau."

You did? Did you by any chance happen to say hello to the Krauts there as well?"

"No, we did not leave the woods. I can tell you, however, that we'll need a blocking force on the road in case they manage to call for reinforcements when we go in."

"I'll keep that in mind Walker, thank you. You realize we will have to use Carina's Maquis friends, right?"

"Yeah, it's pretty much unavoidable."

"OK, now listen carefully. We will watch the chateau tomorrow and get an idea of the guards' routines. Bartowski, Barker, you two try to look for the radio room. Miller said they have a long range radio antenna there, so we need to find the room and hopefully get to it quickly enough to grab any important documents from it and the commander's office, which should be nearby. It's getting dark outside, so saddle up. Miller and Ilsa will take us to just outside the perimeter of the airfield tonight. We'll observe their security and decide on an approach course to the target aircraft."

"Can I add something here, Casey?"

"What is it this time, Bartowski?"

"I think only Devon and I should go to the aircraft and steal it. And in order not to arouse suspicion, we need to have a legitimate reason to take off. Like a RAF raid or something."

"Good point. But can you two make it?"

"I don't see why not, sir," Devon said. "If everything goes well, we'll only have to contend with the crew."

"It will be the two of you against three, Captain Woodcomb. You'll need someone else to accompany you."

"I can go with them," said Bryce.

"I think it might be better if I went with them," Morgan objected.

"Why is that, Grimes?"

"Colonel, sir, we can't just kill the crew and dump the bodies. The Germans will find them and smell a rat. Thus, we'll have to take them to England as prisoners of war. And it will be uncomfortable with six people packed in the aircraft. At least I'm small enough."

"I can see the merit in your argument Grimes."

"Thank you sir."

"Do you speak German, Morgan?"

"Uh, no, Bryce, I don't. Why ask?"

"Sir, I think one of the crew we'll put together to take the plane to England should speak German."

"Larkin is right. Sorry Grimes, but he'll go with Bartowski and Woodcomb."

"It's OK sir, I have no problem with it."

"Cheer up old top, at least you'll get to blow up something at the chateau," said Cole. Morgan just smiled.

Before long, the team was at the edge of the woods, at the exact same vantage point where Carina had set up her camera and taken the photographs they'd all seen in Castle. Casey was peering intently at the airfield through a pair of Zeiss night glasses. Sarah was diligently taking notes based on his observations. He was actually smiling as he saw just how sloppy the Luftwaffe personnel manning the airfield had gotten. The patrols moved in predictable patterns and the sentries rarely ventured into the cold outside the slight protection of their shacks. The lack of trouble had obviously lured them into a false sense of security and they had lowered their guard. The successful and undetected sabotage by the Resistance attested to the lax security. It would be ridiculously easy for three people to sneak in, make their way to the dispersal area and board an aircraft with no one the wiser. The only fully alert Germans in the entire airfield, it seemed, were the crews of the antiaircraft guns and they had their attention to the sky, on the lookout for marauding RAF intruder aircraft, the scourge of Nachtjagdwaffe aircrews.

Casey looked at an armored vehicle which came clanking by on its routine rounds inside the perimeter. He could clearly make out one of the gunners, standing in the open hatch of his small turret smoking a cigarette trying to hide the glow with his cupped hands. He wasn't even bothering to check the surrounding area. Routine was the insidious enemy of vigilance and it was working in Team Intersect's favor. As soon as the miniature tank, there was no other way to describe it, moved some distance away, Casey refocused on the various natural and man made features that could be used for cover from the perimeter to the dispersal area, mentally matching them with Carina's photos. He then studied the aircraft parked on the field, trying to see if there was any activity around them. He even saw the one they were tasked with stealing, but he could not detect any sign of human presence near it, or near any one of the others. The ground crews must be keeping inside, away from the winter cold, venturing out only when absolutely necessary.

He then took the time to indicate the best possible route to Bryce, Devon and Chuck. He would show it to them again on the photographs and the map, but he wanted them to see how it looked at night. When each one of the three confirmed he understood, Casey had Carina lead them back to their underground lair after sending a message requesting a spoof raid by the RAF for tomorrow night. There, they enjoyed a quick snack, washed down with French wine, and went to sleep. Tomorrow they would have to get up early to prepare for the chateau job and then for the airfield. Little did they know that things were about to become a tad more complicated.

**Washington DC**

General Montgomery read and reread the message marked 'MOST SECRET, URGENT' Alex Forrest had sent from London. He wished Bartowski would be there to give him an engineer's insight. But he could understand that what he was reading was evidence of a sinister and dangerous development. He rubbed a hand over his eyes before reaching for a pen and paper to compose a reply. He hated interfering with an operation once it was underway, but this time he had no choice. He only hoped the new orders would reach Colonel Casey and Agent Walker in time for them to amend their plans to allow for a new objective.

**Occupied France**

Sarah lay on her cot in the partitioned space of the underground chamber's sleeping quarters. A million thoughts were racing through her mind. Unsurprisingly, most of them concerned a certain tall lanky engineer. Their attraction was mutual, she had known as much for some time now. He was unique in many respects; he had even been unfazed by her confession of doing things she was not proud of. It meant he understood the cost to her and appreciated the sacrifices she had made while doing her part in the war. He was accepting her as she was in the whole, not just the pretty outward image of her. And this meant the world to her. She had seen the sincerity and affection in his eyes when he said he'd never judge her for her actions.

She was sure about one thing now: he _had_ told her that he loved her last night just before jumping out of the plane. Those three words were echoing in her head and he hadn't even spoken them out loud. Her heart was pounding as she finally summoned the nerve to finally recognize the truth and admit it to herself: She was in love with Chuck too. Ellie had been right. Chuck was always there for her, helping her become a complete person, not just the cold blooded agent she'd been for so long. It elated her and scared her at the same time, but as long as she had Chuck by her side she'd be fine, regardless of the hardships ahead. She drifted off into sleep with the happy thought of finally having found true love.

* * *

**A/N (2) The inevitable history lesson:** Gazogène is the French name of a wood gas generator, used to power vehicles with internal combustion engines instead of gasoline. Many were of the type designed by French inventor Georges Imbert (Imbert gas generators). See 'wood gas generator' in Wikipedia.

The Twenty (XX) Committee was real. See 'Double Cross System' in Wikipedia. The Time-Life Books World War II The Secret War volume is also very informative on the subject.

Chef du parachutage: a very important position in a resistance organization. The person responsible for organizing the reception committee for agents and/or supplies.

PIAT (Projector, Infantry, Anti-Tank): A British hollow-charge bomb thrower.

Fieseler Fi 103: The V-1, aka Buzz Bomb, aka Doodlebug, a primitive cruise missile, first fired in anger in June 1944, but trials had been taking place since late 1942. It's kinda funny, but I only now, as this note is being written, realized that there is a similarity between my imaginary modified version of the V-1 and a certain Chuck episode, right down to the method of operational use. Whoever figures it out wins a virtual cookie, hehe.

Brüsterort: A place on the Baltic Coast in East Prussia, near what is now Kaliningrad. Development of the V-1 was moved there after Peenemünde was bombed by the RAF in August 1943.

The armored vehicle patrolling the airfield would be the Gepanzerter Munitionsschlepper UE 630(f) als Sicherungsfahrzeug, i.e. UE armored ammunition carrier of French origin, with the foreign equipment index number 630 converted for use as a security vehicle. There were many modifications with different superstructure configurations. I opted for one with a traversing turret.

One last note: I think you'll recognize Wilhelm 'Bill' Bergey (here pronounced Bergé) and Bernard Ominsky from a Chuck episode.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N (1): **The action begins! Espionage, intrigue and gunplay galore.

Guest starring Frédéric Diefenthal as Émilien Coutant-Kerbalec

Disclaimers are still the same.

Enjoy!

* * *

**February 23****rd**** 1944, London, England**

Alex was taking a catnap in her office when a Corporal woke her up at 0130 hours and gave her Montgomery's reply to her previous message. She read it carefully and then drafted a message to Casey and encoded it. While she was working another message came in for forwarding to Team Intersect. When she was done, she ran down a corridor and had the messages sent to France over the radio. Like Montgomery, she was hoping they would reach Casey in time for him to amend his plans. It was out of her hands now. She sighed as she opened a cabinet and poured herself a large Scotch.

**Occupied France**

It was the second night the team was spending at the hideout under Carina's barn. Morgan was on guard duty, having relieved Bryce a quarter of an hour ago. He tried to stay awake and alert by thinking about home, his mother, Anna, Ellie, all his other friends. His musings were interrupted by a small bell chiming softly; it was the alarm for the forest exit of the escape tunnel. He quickly woke Bryce, who in turn roused the others. Soon, seven guns were aiming down the tunnel. Casey had used the signaling system to alert Carina and Ilsa as well. The two women quickly came down to the underground chamber, also armed.

"Who goes there?" Morgan asked in French when he saw a man crawling towards them.

"Darne," replied the man.

"It's okay, he's one of ours, he gave the correct codeword and I recognize his voice," said Carina. The others relaxed and allowed the man to enter.

"Bonjour," he said trying to sound cheerful.

"Émilien, what are you doing here?"

"I just got new orders and a message for you from London Carina." He then switched to very good English. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends? I think they still are a bit suspicious of me."

"Oh, yes, sorry. Colonel Casey, meet Capitaine Émilien Coutant-Kerbalec of the French Army. He is the commander of the local Maquis. Émilien, this is Colonel John Casey, United States Marine Corps and this is his partner Sarah Walker."

"Colonel," he said formally and exchanged salutes and handshakes with Casey. "Enchanté, mademoiselle," he added, gallantly kissing Sarah's hand.

"The rest of the introductions can wait," said Casey. "Captain, what brings you here at this ungodly hour?"

"I don't know. The messages are in code." He handed some papers to Carina. She and Ilsa immediately went to decode them. In the meantime, Casey introduced the other team members to the Frenchman.

It took a while to decode the longer message. As soon as it was done, Ilsa brought it to Casey. Carina was decoding the second, shorter message. Casey took a look and grunted in frustration.

"Hey, moron," he said, addressing Chuck, "take a look at this and tell me if it's feasible." Chuck obediently took the message and studied it.

"I think it's perfectly feasible, Casey. In fact it's not much different in principle than the equipment we used to find our drop zone."

"You do realize what this means, right?"

"Yes, Casey, I do."

"Mind letting me in on it as well?" Sarah asked. Wordlessly, Chuck handed her the message. She studied it for a moment and paled when the implications began to sink in. "Shit," she said.

"Exactly. Walker, we have to make some changes in our plans."

"Let's get started."

"OK. Captain, if you could stay, I'd like to brief you on a part of my mission where your assistance will be required."

"I'm not going anywhere, Colonel," replied Émilien.

"Excellent. If you don't mind, please wait until the plans are finalized."

"Yes, Colonel, I'll wait."

Casey and Sarah retired to the work table and spread maps and aerial photos of the area. They needed to make a new addition to the plan for Operation Janus, and it had to be simple, workable and fast in execution. Operation Firefox also had to be unaffected by the change. Émilien had some useful input to add and with all the information available, they hatched a good plan. Émilien then left to send a message to London and assemble his unit and the others went back to sleep. It was going to be a long day.

**Berlin, Germany**

Von Roark was at home when the telephone rang. It was his adjutant and he had some news, but not the kind to be discussed over the phone. Von Roark asked for his car, and received the reply that it was already on the way to pick him up. Less than an hour later, he was sitting in his office, listening to the latest developments.

"How did he die?" Von Roark asked, annoyed.

"Herr Ominsky's doctor said he was afflicted by high blood pressure. His death is attributed to a heart attack, Herr Gruppenführer."

"It is most unfortunate, at this point."

"Still, Herr Gruppenführer, he had successfully supervised the completion of the tests of both devices and ordered the necessary equipment to be sent to Standartenführer Keller's unit. This is a copy of the transportation order."

"Scheisse!"

"Herr Gruppenführer?"

"What idiot ordered to send all the units to Keller? He was only supposed to receive one for training. The rest would be kept for loading to the aircraft that will take Keller and his men to England."

"I knew you'd ask, Herr Gruppenführer, so I checked. Apparently it was an encoding error, something about the placement of the nulls in the original message. Should I send a message to Standartenführer Keller, with instructions to return the surplus units?"

"Do it."

"Zu befehl, Herr Gruppenführer."

"Is there anything else requiring my attention?"

"Reichsmarschall Göring said he can meet with you today, Herr Gruppenführer. The appointment has been scheduled to take place in two hours from now."

"Excellent. That will be all. Dismissed."

"Heil Hitler!"

"Heil Hitler."

**London, England**

Alex had just returned to the office from her apartment. She was feeling refreshed, having showered and caught a few hours of much needed sleep in her bed, instead of her office couch. Hell, she had practically been living in her office for the past two days. The same Corporal who had delivered Montgomery's message to her during the night brought her a cup of freshly brewed coffee, real coffee and real strong, just as she needed it. He also had another message for her. Team Intersect had received the new orders and amended the plan for Operation Janus accordingly. Operation Firefox would take place as planned with no changes. And it was going down today. This meant she would have to get the Ventura, which was waiting in Tempsford, on standby to evacuate Team Intersect from France and arrange with the RAF for a feint to get German night fighters in the air, including the experimental Ju 88, which however would be flown by an Allied crew to England if all went well.

**Berlin, Germany**

"Ach, mein lieber Von Roark, guten morgen," Göring said, welcoming the SS General into his office.

"Guten morgen, Herr Reichsmarschall," Von Roark replied. "Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice."

"The Führer's orders were clear; the Ring Abteilung is to receive all the assistance it requires."

"Thank you, Herr Reichsmarschall. I assume you have a reply to my inquiry?"

"Yes, my staff delivered it earlier today. Fortunately for your operation, a new unit was formed just a few days ago, a unit which will be tasked with covert operations, including agent drops."

"Very interesting."

"Now, as to your request; my staff concluded that the drop you want could take place in daylight, using a captured enemy heavy bomber like the B-17 or the B-24 for the transportation of your team, but there are serious flaws with this."

"Care to explain, Herr Reichsmarschall?"

"Yes, apparently a daylight drop runs the risk of being observed."

"Naturally."

"Plus we would not know what colors to paint the bomber with."

"Meaning?"

"The Americans use a unique and elaborate system to identify their bomber groups. We can have an aircraft painted in the colors of a specific group, but we'll have no way of knowing if said group is actually participating in the raid which KG.200, our new unit, will infiltrate to use as cover for the trip to England. Even if our aircraft poses as a damaged straggler returning to base early, it may be identified as having no business being a straggler."

"And the whole operation is blown. All of the above rule out a daylight drop then."

"Quite so, but my staff have figured out a way for a nighttime drop."

"Please explain."

"Obviously, an enemy aircraft would still have to be used to confuse the enemy, even if intercepted. Unfortunately, we do not have any captured British four engine bombers, save for a damaged Stirling. Wellingtons are unsuitable, as they are no longer used as frontline bombers. But it was suggested to use a transport aircraft. According to this, the Deutsche Lufthansa has Douglas DC-3 aircraft, the civilian equivalent of the C-47 transport. One can be allocated to I Gruppe, Kampfgeschwader 200 and painted to resemble either an American or a British aircraft. An added advantage is that enemy transport aircraft lack the elaborate markings of the bombers."

"Thank you, Herr Reichsmarschall. You have taken a big worry off my shoulders."

"May I add something?"

"Of course."

"My people suggest that the DC-3 be painted in American colors. Most enemy night fighters are British, so it is reasonable to will be more difficult to guess something is suspicious about the 'C-47' they'll see, if they encounter it."

"I prefer to leave such matters to the experts, Herr Reichsmarschall. I'm perfectly content to allow your people to do what they think is best."

"This is the smartest approach, Gruppenführer. I believe we have covered all subjects for now."

"We have, Herr Reichsmarschall. Have a nice day." Von Roark rose to leave. "Heil Hitler!"

Göring acknowledged the salute with a nonchalant wave of the hand.

**Occupied France**

"We have to figure out which truck will be carrying those transmitters," said Casey.

"It will have to be real quick too," added Sarah. "We know the cargo will be heavily escorted."

"How do you propose we find out?" Émilien asked.

"Perhaps Moron here can identify the crates from their markings."

"How will I ever be able to get close enough, Casey?" Chuck asked.

"This is spy stuff. You should address this question to Walker and Miller, Bartowski."

"Carina, any ideas?" Sarah asked.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I have a great idea. Chucky here can go in disguised as a Boche officer. We have uniforms, medals, forged papers, the works. He'll look very convincing."

"You are overlooking one thing, Carina."

"What is it, Chuck?"

"I don't speak German."

"Crap."

"We'll be signing the Moron's death warrant, and ours too, if we go through with this crazy plan."

"There is a way around it," said Carina.

"Explain."

"This area is popular with Germans convalescing from wounds received on the Eastern Front. We can dress him up to look like he was wounded, preferably including injuries that would mess up his hearing and speech, if they were real."

"Carina, you are a genius! I can go in as a nurse, if you have a suitable uniform for me-"

"Oh, we do, trust me."

"And Bryce can come too, as a doctor or a medic, since he speaks German."

"Sounds like a plan. You three, come with me. Let's get you ready."

A little while later, Sarah was wearing a German Red Cross nurse's uniform and looked damn good in it. Bryce was now a Wehrmacht medic, while Chuck now wore the uniform of a Wehrmacht Leutnant, complete with Iron Cross Second Class ribbon, Iron Cross First Class, Infantry Assault badge, wound badge, Panzergrenadier Division Grossdeutchland cuff title and the Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross. A bandage swathed his throat, securing a large gauze pad and another bandage was wrapped around his head. Cotton wool was stuffed in his ears, but arranged in a way it would not impair his hearing. Judiciously applied theatrical makeup completed the disguise. The finishing touch was his documents package. Carina had made identification for a Leutnant Karl Bartow, wounded in action on the Eastern Front, recuperating in France. Other forged papers were issued to Sarah and Bryce.

"You are now a war hero, Herr Leutnant," Sarah said, taking in Chuck's new look.

"You look great yourself, Fräulein," he replied gamely.

"Just remember to keep your trap shut, Moron."

"Colonel, why do you always call Chuck 'Moron'?" Ilsa asked.

"It's our inside joke, Ilsa," Chuck said with a smile. Ilsa shrugged, understanding.

"Chuck," said Sarah, "don't forget that you are supposed to be unable to speak _and_ hear. Bryce and I will be using hand signals to communicate with you. Do the same."

"OK, I got it. If anyone talks to me, I signal that I can't hear anything."

"Good. Bryce and I will also do all the required talking. You just focus on anything that might reveal the location of their special radios."

"Time to get the show on the road. We are pressed for time here people," said Casey.

**Berlin, Germany**

Flugkapitän Jürgen Steiger of the DLH landed the DC-3 at Gatow and taxied towards one of the hangars. He was met by a number of Lufthansa executives. In fact, half of them were Luftwaffe officers in disguise. The paperwork concerning the delivery of the aircraft was quickly done with and Steiger was given a few days off. He decided to go visit his family in Bonn. He didn't give the mysterious ferry flight he had just completed a second thought.

From Gatow the DC-3 was flown to Rechlin, where a KG.200 ground crew took over. They towed it into a hangar and immediately started repainting it. The original natural metal finish gave place to olive drab uppersurfaces and grey undersurfaces. American star-and-bar national insignia were painted in the appropriate positions on the fuselage and wings, while a spurious serial number was stenciled in yellow on the tail fin. When the cosmetic work was finished, only the engine cowlings and the lack of a cargo door on the port side betrayed the disguise to the careful observer. At night it could definitely pass as an American C-47. When the paint was dry, German insignia decals were applied over the American markings for ferry purposes and to conceal the clandestine use intended for this particular aircraft.

**Occupied France**

With the help of the Resistance, sneaking into town proved surprisingly easy for Chuck, Sarah and Bryce. They were now strolling down a street near the railway station, 'Leutnant Bartow' leaning heavily on his cane, flanked by a nurse and a medic. Just as they approached the station, a convoy of trucks and armored vehicles appeared and stopped by the loading dock. Armed men, led by a Wehrmacht Major, fanned out and secured the area.

The Major saw the three and approached them. Chuck made a show of clicking his heels and gave a military salute, not a Nazi one. Bryce followed suit. Chuck also pretended that said heel clicking was painful, prompting a concerned look from his nurse. The pained expression also masked a flash on the officer as he came towards them. Chuck's and Bryce's salutes were promptly returned.

"Major Müller," said the officer. "And you are…"

"Herr Major, this is Leutnant Karl Bartow. I am Feldwebel Erwin Braun and this is Nurse Sara Walter," said Bryce.

"Can't the Leutnant speak for himself?"

"Herr Major," Sarah said, "his throat has been injured and he cannot speak. There is also damage to his eardrums, so he can't hear either."

Chuck had identified this 'Major Müller' as Sturmbannführer Shaw, but he couldn't say anything. He didn't have to; Sarah and Bryce had remembered the German from Jill's briefing sessions. Müller/Shaw exchanged a few words with Bryce and looked appreciatively at Sarah. To him the tall blue eyed blonde was the epitome of Aryan beauty. And he had totally bought the performance, being convinced that Karl, who was in fact Chuck, was a genuine war hero. Finally he stalked off to supervise the unloading of some cargo from the train to a truck.

Sarah led Chuck to a nearby bench and 'helped' him sit down. He flashed again as he saw the markings on one of the crates being unloaded from a boxcar. He grasped Sarah's hand and gave her a squeeze. She immediately understood what it meant. Their target identified, they needed to get out of there fast. Fortunately, Shaw wasn't paying them any attention as they left the station area, Sarah pretending to fuss over Chuck.

Sneaking out of town proved to be as easy as sneaking in was. Soon they met up with the rest of the team and a group of thirty Maquisards in the woods. Chuck, Sarah and Bryce quickly changed back into their American uniforms. Then Chuck informed Casey about Shaw and the convoy.

"So, Bartowski, you say that the convoy is commanded by this Shaw guy."

"Yes. And the radios are in the Opel Blitz truck. It's the only one, you can't miss it. The convoy is heavily escorted. I saw a couple of armored vehicles, one mounting a quad antiaircraft gun. We'll have to deal with it first."

"Agreed. Otherwise this thing can cut the Maquis to ribbons. What about the troops, Bartowski?"

"Most didn't look like Germans to me," Chuck replied and proceeded to describe the uniforms the men of the escort wore.

"Miliciens," Carina spat, the word rolling off her tongue like it was coated in acid. The Maquisards tensed; every patriotic Frenchman reserved a special kind of hatred for members of the Milice, the traitors in the service of the Nazis who had taken up arms against their own countrymen.

"Their weapons?" Émilien inquired.

"Same as yours, from what I saw."

"How is that possible?" Casey asked.

"The Boches armed their lackeys with captured weapons," explained Émilien.

"OK. Enough talking; we have work to do. Let's go, people," said Casey.

Émilien had chosen the perfect spot for an ambush. It offered excellent cover and it was far enough from both the town and the chateau so that a firefight would go unnoticed, unseen and unheard. He and Casey inspected the Maquisards and made sure they did not have any weapons or equipment of German or French origin. They were also wearing British battle dress uniforms airdropped by SOE. All in all, they could easily pass as Commandos, or, more precisely, as Free French Commandos. Their weapons, Sten submachine guns, Lee-Enfield rifles, Bren light machine guns and PIAT antitank projectors were also typically British. These preparations ensured that the Germans would have no grounds for reprisals against the civilian population of the area.

Casey expressed his approval of the positions, gave Émilien some last minute instructions and took his team towards the chateau, leaving the Maquis to carry out the ambush.

Carina and Ilsa would stay with the rest of the Maquis near the clearing they were using as a drop zone. With the help of the OSS they had already concocted a very convincing alibi so that the Germans would never suspect them of resistance activities; a telegram had been sent to Carina from Stockholm, asking her to return in order to attend to family matters. She had then gone to the local German Commandant and procured two travel passes, one for herself and one for Ilsa. Since they were posing as Swedish nationals, citizens of a neutral country, it was easy to convince the Germans to issue the necessary documents. She also ended the lease on the farmhouse with the friendly (and Resistance affiliated) landlord and, starting days ago, made sure many people would know she'd be leaving with her maid. Ostensibly she would travel to Denmark and then take a boat to Sweden. Thus her absence would not raise any alarms with the Germans.

Most of the Maquis were deployed to cover the road where the convoy would pass. The chosen kill zone offered almost no cover to the Germans and the Milice Franc-Gardes. Two small sections of Maquisards were assigned to cover the main force's flanks and rear against any enveloping move by the enemy. When Émilien was satisfied with his unit's dispositions they settled down to wait.

They didn't have to wait long; the sound of engines announced the approach of the convoy. Émilien noted with some satisfaction that the leading vehicle, an old SdKfz 231 6-Rad heavy armored car, could not elevate its turreted weapons sufficiently to engage his force in the high positions they were occupying. The flak truck, a Mercedes L 4500 A with an armored cab mounting a Flakvierling 38 quadruple 20 mm antiaircraft cannon, was the main threat and had to be dealt with first, as Chuck had pointed out during the short briefing he'd given them.

The armored car ran over one of the SOE-supplied land mines disguised as cow droppings that the Maquisards had sown on the road. The blast blew one of its wheels clean off, ruptured fuel lines and set the vehicle on fire. It swerved off course and ended up in the roadside ditch. The survivors from its crew bailed out and tried to take cover. Then the Maquis opened fire. The flak truck was hit by two PIAT hollow-charge bombs in rapid succession, one destroying the engine and the other hitting the gun mount, wrecking it and killing the gunners. Émilien emptied his Sten into one of the trucks carrying the Miliciens. His Maquisards were raking the vehicles with sustained fire, the well trained riflemen firing as fast as they could work the bolts of their Lee-Enfields, the Bren and Sten gunners letting loose with long bursts, giving the enemy no chance to form up to counter the ambush. In fact, most of the Miliciens were killed before they could even dismount from their vehicles. Those who attempted to return fire died in a hail of gunfire and a shower of grenades.

Shaw himself had been sitting in the Opel and jumped on the running board when the armored car hit the mine. Before he had the chance to react and start issuing orders, a grenade thrown by a Maquisard exploded under his truck throwing him to the ground, unconscious. Leaderless, confused and taken completely by surprise, his men could offer no fight to their still unseen assailants.

The one sided battle was soon over. The heavy gunfire became sporadic and then stopped altogether. Émilien could see no movement in the kill zone below. Motioning to three of his men to follow him and the rest to cover them, he cautiously picked his way around the carnage on the road until he got to the Opel truck. Pulling the activating lanyard of a satchel charge, he threw it among the jumble of wooden crates in the cargo bed. He then stepped back to the nearest convenient cover and watched as the truck and its precious cargo was blown apart. The Maquisards replenished their stock of .303" ammunition from the dead Miliciens. Émilien, speaking English for the benefit of any enemy survivors who might be hiding and observing the scene, said:

"Bloody good work chaps. Top up your ammo and let's get going. Very considerate of the buggers to have the same guns as us. Chop-chop, we still have quite a bit of work to do." It was the prearranged signal to assemble for the return to their hideout deep in the woods. Émilien quickly took stock of the situation. The ambush had worked so well that there were no casualties among his Maquisards. The convoy had been annihilated. Mission accomplished. He took the lead and his men followed him. Now, he only had to send a brief message to London, reporting that one phase of Operation Janus was complete. He fervently hoped Casey and his people would be just as lucky.

Shaw regained consciousness in time to see the commander of the force that had destroyed his convoy give the final orders. He was speaking English and the accent seemed vaguely familiar to Shaw. Canadian most likely, he decided, still very much dazed. How on earth did the Allies know about the convoy to send Commandos to destroy it? Before he had the chance to ponder on the question and the implications of what had just happened any more, he passed out again.

He was found about half an hour later by some Miliciens, whose truck had broken down just outside of the town and had thus been separated from the rest of the convoy. They were hurrying to rejoin it when they encountered the nightmarish scene of the ambush's aftermath. He was still unconscious, so they carried him to the truck and took him to their base, an abandoned farm some distance outside of town. They would treat his injuries there. In their confusion and fear, they didn't think to take Shaw back to the town or the airfield and hand him over to his compatriots.

**Burbank CA**

It was still morning in the West Coast of the US. Ellie Bartowski was still on leave, so she didn't have to get up early, but did so out of habit. She took a quick shower and went to the living room to start planning for the day. Her gaze wandered over to the newly framed photographs of Chuck, Sarah, Morgan, Devon and herself. She smiled as she remembered Anna's reaction the other day when she'd told her she'd seen Morgan.

Anna absolutely had to see those pictures. Without hesitation Ellie picked up the phone and called her friend. Predictably, Anna dropped everything and hurried to Ellie's.

"Ellie, I'm so glad you called! I hope you have more news of the guys to tell me," Anna said.

"Hello Anna, and no, I don't have more news, but I can show you some pictures."

"You have pictures? Where are they?"

"Calm down, they are right here." Ellie gave Anna the first photo, which she took eagerly.

"Wow. Just wow. Morgan in uniform? I thought I'd never live to see that. You didn't tell me he was in the service yesterday. And the uniform is unfamiliar to me."

"Morgan joined the French Foreign Legion back in 1940, Anna. He has had his share of fighting in North Africa. When I asked him about how he managed to keep his beard, he told me that beards are a tradition for Legion combat engineers."

"He looks good. And Chuck, he also looks great."

"Yes, he does, doesn't he?"

"And it appears he found himself a girl."

"Who, Sarah?"

"That's the blonde's name?"

"Yes. She's a nice girl. I mean look at them. They are obviously in love. They tried to hide it, claiming they just work together, but some things you just can't hide."

"Not from you, Ellie. Chuck was never good at it and neither was Devon."

"I already miss them, Anna. I just saw them all in DC a few days ago, but…"

"You already miss them? I haven't seen Morgan in years. And he's one of my dearest friends."

"I think he's more than a friend to you, Anna."

"We tried, but we decided it wouldn't work. We are too good friends to get into a romantic relationship."

"You tried? When?"

"A few months before Morgan left to travel the world back in 1939. It was always his dream to see the world."

"I remember him say that a lot."

"Yeah, anyway, I encouraged him to follow his heart and live his dream. Who knew a damned war would start?"

"He's different now. Still the Morgan we know and love, but he's changed, for the better."

"I can't wait till he returns home. We have so much to say to each other. Now, show me more pictures!"

"Gladly," Ellie giggled.

**London, England**

Alex Forrest received Carina Miller's decoded report. She read it and decided the situation dictated that it would be best to call General Montgomery directly, rather than use the radio or teleprinter link to Washington. She moved to a phone that was connected to a secure line and placed a call to Montgomery's office.

"Hello," a voice answered.

"General, sir, this is Lieutenant Forrest calling from London."

"Ah, yes Lieutenant, what can I do for you?"

"I just got a radioed report from Agent Miller. She reports that the new orders regarding Operation Janus have been carried out to the full, repeat, the new orders have been carried out."

"That's very good news, Lieutenant. Did she get into the specifics?"

"Her report doesn't say much, but it appears Team Intersect had the Resistance help them on this. And they were not compromised."

"Excellent, Lieutenant, thank you. Is there anything else?"

"No sir, that's all."

"OK then. Goodbye Lieutenant."

"Goodbye sir."

**Occupied France**

Shaw had been drifting in and out of consciousness for the past hour, and was rambling something about British Commandos every time he awoke. The Miliciens who had rescued him decided to wait until the German Major was fully conscious to be able to tell them what exactly had happened and report to higher headquarters. They didn't want to go out with inadequate information and possibly run blind into another ambush.

Consulting the maps and the schematics Carina had given them, Casey took his team to a point near the chateau, where the exit of the secret passage would be. He had the others form a defensive perimeter, while he and Sarah would look for the tunnel. It was well hidden by the plants growing around it, but they eventually found it.

Casey ordered Chuck and Devon to guard the area. The rest broke out the silenced weapons. They would use them first, switching to their normal guns only when they'd have no choice.

They all shook hands with the two men they were leaving to watch their backs, the latter wishing their friends good luck. One by one they entered the dark tunnel. Sarah was the last to go in. Just before turning to follow the others she reached out and hugged Chuck. Then, without a word, she turned and disappeared into the inky blackness.

* * *

**A/N (2) A little more history:** KG.200 was a real unit of the Luftwaffe, roughly the equivalent of the Carpetbaggers mentioned in a previous chapter. Wikipedia has some interesting information.

The Lufthansa airline had some DC-3s captured from the airlines of occupied countries. See under 'beuteflugzeuge - USA' in www[dot]luftarchiv[dot]de.

The Milice was the scourge of the Resistance, as bad as, and sometimes worse than the Gestapo. (Time-Life Books World War II The Resistance and Wikipedia – the latter includes a photo of Miliciens with British weapons)

SdKfz 231 6-rad: Heavy armored car, based on a 6x4 truck chassis with poor cross-country performance, used as a training or security vehicle after the 1940 campaign in France. Armed with a 20 mm cannon and a 7.92 mm machine gun.

Mercedes L 4500 A flak truck: 4.5 tonne truck, fitted with light armor over the cab and engine and carrying an antiaircraft gun of 20, 37 or 50 mm caliber.

Cow pie mines: yes, they were real. The OSS also issued mines disguised as horse droppings (Time-Life Books).

Opel Blitz truck: One of the workhorses of the German armed forces in the 3 tonne category. I did not specifically name the other trucks in this chapter, but let's just say they are Renault AHN models.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N (1): **More action and lots more gunplay in this chapter. Not much else to say, really.

Once again, thank you all for reading and many thanks for the encouraging reviews so far.

As always, disclaimers never change.

* * *

**February 23****rd**** 1944, Occupied France**

Cole was scouting the way ahead, his silenced Sten gun at the ready, the Thompson slung behind his back, while Casey was looking at the schematics Carina had provided. They were coming up on the only intersection and he wanted to make sure they would exit the secret passage at the Count's former quarters and not at the dining hall.

"Barker, go left," he whispered.

"Going left," Cole confirmed.

"We should be coming up on the hidden door in about twenty-five to thirty yards. If the plans are correct, there is another left turn."

"I think I see it, Colonel."

"Go. And keep quiet."

It took them less than two minutes to silently make their way to the door.

"Casey, how do we open it?" Sarah asked quietly.

"Gimme a minute to see if I can find a latch or something," he replied. He started feeling around the door with his fingers, not wanting to use a flashlight, lest the light shine through and betray their presence. His hand brushed against a lever. "I think I found it," he said, turning the safety of the De Lisle carbine off. Sarah already had her High Standard HDM silenced pistol out.

"Ready?" Sarah asked.

"Yeah. We go in on three," he said, pulling down the lever and unlocking the door. "One… two… three!" Casey pushed the door open and the whole team burst into the room, weapons at the ready. The late Dr. LaFleur had provided them with accurate plans, as they found themselves in a large, lavishly furnished bedroom with a four-poster bed between two arched windows. Using hand signals Casey had Morgan, Bryce and Cole keep watch at the door, while he and Sarah explored the room, which showed obvious signs of being occupied. The drawers of the ornate dresser did not contain any documents, so they turned their attention to the huge closet, after briefly looking under the bed. Several neatly pressed uniforms hang in there; an SS Colonel's uniform, two walking out uniforms for a US Army Colonel and a Wehrmacht Colonel's uniform, all obviously belonging to this Keller they had been told about, but no documents of any kind. They would have to keep searching inside the chateau.

Casey motioned to Cole, who cracked the door open and peeked out, the Sten leveled. The corridor outside the room was empty. Casey checked the plans again and pointed in the direction of the study. The others nodded they understood and followed him. Their biggest worry was being discovered too soon. All it would take would be a single shot from an unsilenced weapon and the whole garrison would be alerted; they would then have to fight a numerically superior force while simultaneously trying to obtain intelligence.

Outside, Chuck was fidgeting. He knew he and Devon were relatively safe at the woods end of the tunnel, out of sight of anyone watching from the chateau, but he couldn't help worrying about the others. He felt he should be in there with them.

"Devon?"

"What is it Chuck?"

"This isn't right, man."

"What do you mean?"

"I should be in there with them. I don't know why Casey changed his mind and left me here with you. You are the pilot and we can't risk you in there, but he had said I would have to find the radio room with Cole."

"Chuck, he made the decision because you are equally valuable to the team. I can fly, yes, but I can't work a radar system and neither can Bryce. And I will need a radar operator when we steal that damned plane. And don't forget all the intel you are carrying around in your head."

"Damn Professor Fleming for doing this to me!"

"Chuckster, take it easy, bro."

"I just can't, okay?"

"They all know what they are doing. They are better trained than either of us. They have combat experience and if anyone can pull it off, it's them."

"Shouldn't we have done a little reconnaissance first?"

"It wouldn't help much. Carina already briefed us on the guards' routine, so we have a pretty good picture of what's going on outside the walls. But all the observation in the world cannot tell us what those Krauts are up to inside. Maybe the Colonel will have you come in and give the radios a look once it's all clear."

"Still, I'd feel a whole lot better if I could know how it's all going," said Chuck. He then crawled up a slight slope and peered through the bushes at the chateau. Everything appeared to be normal, meaning his team mates had not been detected yet.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"One of us has to watch this side, Devon, in case anyone comes from there. You take the other side."

"OK," Devon agreed after considering it for a moment. "Plus, I think it would be better if we took up stations a little farther from the tunnel. It's well hidden as it is, and we need not advertise its existence by literally standing on its exit."

"Awesome tactical thinking Devon."

The corridor was covered with a thick carpet, which effectively muffled their footsteps, but also made it impossible to hear anyone coming their way. Suddenly they heard voices ahead and quickly ducked inside a room, which fortunately was empty. Casey gestured to Bryce and Cole to take the Germans out. The two produced their fighting knives and waited behind the door. As the two men in the corridor passed the door, Bryce opened it and he and Cole crept up behind their targets. It was over in seconds; Cole used the standard Commando method of a knife to the throat, while Bryce stuck his knife between the ribs of his victim. The two SS troopers never knew what hit them and their bodies were unceremoniously thrown inside the room where the team had been hiding. A quick check to make sure no alarms had been raised and the team continued towards the study.

Sarah carefully checked the corner and held out her hand for the others to stop. She indicated that there was one man standing guard outside a room just around the corner. Casey came to her side and risked a look. Sure enough, a bored SS soldier with a rifle slung from a shoulder was leaning against the corridor wall. They had no choice but to take him out. He knelt and brought up the De Lisle, while Sarah was ready with the HDM. They moved as one, rounding the corner and firing just one shot each. The only sounds were two very soft plops as the weapons discharged, the spent cartridge case from Sarah's pistol making no sound as it landed on the thick carpet, the thump of a body hitting the floor and the metallic clicking of Casey cycling the bolt of the De Lisle and chambering a fresh round. Moving quickly, Morgan and Bryce dragged the body to the same room where they had dumped the other dead Germans, covered by Cole.

Casey had the others keep watch in pairs, Sarah with Morgan and Bryce with Cole. This way he made sure there was one person with a silenced weapon facing each way, as Morgan's carbine and Bryce's Colt Monitor BAR were not silenced. He then entered the room and started collecting various documents and stuffing them in a bag he was carrying for this very purpose. He thought it might have been better if he had given this job to Walker since she spoke German and could tell which documents were important and which were not.

He did not have time to dwell on it, as he bumped into another man who suddenly appeared behind a bookcase. They were equally surprised to see each other, but Casey, with his experience in jungle fighting where an enemy might appear out of nowhere, recovered first. His De Lisle was on the desk where he'd left it while gathering papers, but he quickly rammed a fist into the man's solar plexus, forcing the air from his lungs with an audible 'oof'. The German, whom Casey had by now identified as Keller, recovered quickly and lunged at him. He sidestepped the assault and tripped Keller, sending him crashing into a chair. Keller was tough; he got up immediately and launched a vicious kick at Casey, who twisted sideways and absorbed the blow with his thigh. The force of the kick slowed him down momentarily, allowing Keller to swing a punch, which was blocked at the last moment. As they wrestled, Casey head-butted Keller, breaking the German's nose and stunning him. Seizing the opportunity, he grabbed Keller by the throat and applied enough force to snap his neck. Keller's dead body dropped like a sack of potatoes at Casey's feet.

Sarah had heard the sounds of fighting coming from inside the study and rushed in, pistol held ready. She found Casey standing over the SS Colonel's corpse, catching his breath.

"Another one down," he told her.

"Nice work, Casey. One objective accomplished," she replied. One of Montgomery's orders had been to eliminate Standartenführer Keller. And Casey had just done it.

"Walker, take over collecting documents. I'll take your place outside."

"OK." She handed Casey his De Lisle and took the bag from him. Working swiftly she continued filling it with papers, maps and photographs from the desk, the bookshelves and the trestle tables set up in the room. Her knowledge of German proved invaluable as she was able to quickly pick out the important documents. When she was done, she rejoined the others in the corridor. "Done," she said.

"OK, let's go people. Next stop, radio room," said Casey.

"Do you know where it is?"

"No, Walker, I don't, but it has to be close to the CO's office."

"Maybe we should have brought Chuck with us."

"Bartowski is too valuable to risk in a situation like this."

"You've got a point here Casey."

They cautiously made their way down the corridor, Casey in the lead, Sarah following with Morgan and Bryce behind her, Cole bringing up the rear covering their backs.

"This is it; radio room," she whispered.

"How do you know?" Casey whispered back.

"It says so on the sign," she replied cheekily, pointing at a German language sign on the door.

"Be careful; this place must be manned at all times."

"I'll try to find out how many Krauts are in there." She knelt by the door as the others formed a defensive perimeter. She tried to peek through the keyhole, but she couldn't see anyone within the limited field of view it afforded her. She then glued her ear to the door, trying to hear any sounds that mind indicate how many people were inside, but she didn't reckon on the door itself; it was unlocked and, as she pressed against it, it flew open. She crashed inside the room, the silenced gun flying from her hand and skittering across the stone floor.

"Was ist…?" The startled radio operator on duty didn't have time to finish the phrase or draw his pistol from the holster on his belt. With a flick of her wrist Sarah sent a knife flying towards the German before his fingers even touched the leather. The razor sharp blade sliced into his throat, his cry of surprise replaced by an awful gurgling sound as he choked on his own blood and collapsed to the floor. Sarah got up, retrieved her gun and turned to assess the situation. Casey and Morgan were already inside the radio room, verifying the operator was alone.

"All clear," said Morgan. "Hey, this clown is another one of those guys Agent Roberts briefed us on back in the US."

"What? Oh, you're right, Morgan. If I remember correctly this one is Schultz," Sarah said.

Casey grunted. "Walker," he said, "look around for anything useful; orders, code books, you know the drill." As she moved about carrying out the order, Casey turned to Morgan. "Grimes, set your charges."

"Yes sir, how do you want it done? Should I put the charges on a timer, or should I booby trap the place with pull-firers and pressure detonators?"

"Do it so that this place will go up no matter what."

"No timers then, Colonel, got it." Morgan deftly placed a number of charges on the radio equipment, the telephone switchboard and the Enigma machine which they would have to leave there, as it was too bulky to carry out with them. When he was done he inserted the detonators and booby trapped the door. Anyone trying to open it would set off all the explosives he had rigged in the room.

The primary mission objectives had been accomplished; Keller was dead, as was another Ring agent and they had retrieved invaluable intel on the Ring in general and on Operation Fulcrum in particular. Added to the destruction of the convoy by the Maquis earlier, and Casey was sure the French had succeeded, otherwise the convoy would have been at the chateau, all the above meant that Operation Janus was a success. They still had to eliminate other members of Keller's unit as a secondary objective, but Casey reasoned it could be done just as well by means of an airstrike on the chateau. And there was one scheduled for later. All he had to do was send a code signal to London.

Chuck and Devon were still maintaining watch near the passage exit when Chuck heard the sound of vehicle engines coming from the road leading to the chateau.

"Devon! Devon, come here!"

"What do you see Chuck?"

"Two truckloads of enemy troops just came in and stopped at the gate."

"Damn! We didn't think of that! Our guys will find themselves in the middle of the changing of the guard."

"I gotta go in and warn them," said Chuck and ran towards the tunnel.

"No, wait!"

"Wait for what, Devon? We are wasting time. They went in expecting to have to deal with twenty-five guards and now there are fifty. I'm going in!"

"Fine, do it your way. Just be careful bro."

"I will," Chuck said and entered the secret passage.

While Chuck was making his way towards them, the other members of the team were cautiously moving out from the radio room in the direction of the dining hall.

"Halt!" The voice came from a staircase ahead and to their right. Casey and Sarah instinctively turned and fired in the direction of the three Germans they saw. Sarah's shot flew wide, but Casey's aim was better, the .45 bullet hitting the enemy officer in the shoulder, while Cole scythed down the two men who accompanied the officer with his silenced Sten. The damage was done, however. They didn't manage to kill or incapacitate the German and he ran off to sound the alarm. No more point in using the silenced weapons. They were swiftly cleared, safetied and stowed in a backpack.

"Walker, I will cover the staircase!" Casey barked. "You, Barker, Grimes and Larkin, shoot anything that moves in the dining hall!"

Immediately Sarah, Cole, Morgan and Bryce took up position on the balcony overlooking the dining hall. To their right Casey was aiming his Thompson down the stairs.

"Colonel, shouldn't we be getting the bloody hell out of this place?" Cole asked.

"We gotta stall them for a while and make them think twice before rushing after us. This way they'll be to busy to consider the possibility of a secret passage. Hopefully it will buy us enough time to get away."

"I see sir."

"Good. Watch your fire, stay in cover and don't give your position away."

Cole didn't answer back. At this moment an SS squad burst into the dining hall. The sharp crack of Morgan's carbine was drowned out by the booming of Sarah's and Cole's Thompsons and the thundering of Bryce's Monitor. Six of the eleven Germans died instantly. Three others made it across the hall and ran up the stairs, while the last two ducked back behind the stone pillars flanking the huge oak doors and tried to return fire. Casey quickly dispatched the three in the stairs.

Bryce had to duck as a burst chipped the parapet of the balcony he was taking cover behind, some of the bullets zipping by, just missing his head. Cole threw a grenade, which fell short, but still disrupted the enemy fire. There were two doors leading into the dining hall and Germans were now trying to get in through both, in hope of splitting the defensive fire coming from the balcony.

"Reloading!" Morgan yelled, as he slammed a fresh magazine into his carbine and yanked back the charging handle to chamber the first round. He was back in firing position as Cole emptied the magazine of his Thompson and went back under cover to reload. Bryce was firing short bursts to conserve ammunition, but he still had to stop and reload. The 20-round mags of the BAR were not exactly suitable for prolonged firing. Sarah also had to reload a couple of seconds later.

In the meantime Chuck threw caution to the wind and started running as the sounds of the gun battle reached his ears. He could tell he was getting close to the others when he bumped into a German soldier who had been hurrying down from the attic to see what was going on. The collision caused them both to drop their main weapons as they fell on the floor. They instinctively scrambled away from each other, and tried to get up quickly. The German ran off to find his compatriots. Forgetting about his carbine, Chuck drew his Colt .45 and took off in pursuit.

"Halt!" Chuck yelled at the fleeing German. To emphasize the point, he fired a single shot into the wall. The SS trooper stumbled, lost his footing and fell.

"Hände hoch," Chuck told him. It was one of the few German phrases he knew.

"Nein, bitte, Nein," the German pleaded. He was surreptitiously reaching for his pistol, but Chuck couldn't see it.

"Don't move," Chuck said in English, as he didn't know how to say it in German. A single shot rang out and the German dropped dead, his weapon half drawn from the holster. Chuck's head jerked up in surprise; He saw Casey, who had his gun still aimed at the German. He had just reloaded when he saw him trying to get the drop on Chuck and reacted accordingly. Casey grunted and turned his attention back to the staircase.

Something caused Sarah to turn around. She froze in shock as she saw Chuck still standing over the corpse of a German, gun in hand. _This can't be happening_, she thought. Chuck had been forced to kill someone. She rationalized it was war after all, but she felt he had been robbed of the innocence she so adored in him. Her eyes were already stinging from the cordite fumes, but she managed to force back the fresh tears that welled up as she realized Chuck would never be the same again. Casey's voice snapped her back to reality.

"Walker! Over here! Bartowski, Just what the fuck do you think you're doing, coming here while I specifically ordered you to wait outside?"

"Casey, Sarah, the Germans sent a fresh platoon to relieve the garrison here."

"You mean there are fifty fucking Krauts out there? Minus those we already killed?"

"Yes. We gotta get out of here."

"He's right Casey."

"Right. Grimes, you go right ahead and secure the entry to the passage. Barker! You go next."

"I'm running out of ammo!" Bryce shouted.

"Here, I brought some more," said Chuck, handing Bryce a canvas bandolier containing some extra magazines.

"Good thinking Bartowski," Casey muttered with a satisfied grunt. "Walker, why the Hell are you still standing there?"

"Uh, sorry."

"Sorry won't cut it," he growled. "What's going on?"

"It's Chuck… He killed someone… He-"

"I got some news for you, Walker. He didn't kill the Kraut."

"What?"

"I did."

"You what?"

"You heard me. He hesitated. He didn't have the stones to pull the trigger. Kid's not a killer. He's just not made that way, unlike us. He's not in his element out here, even with the training he got."

"Thank you Casey."

"For what?"

"For everything," she answered cryptically. Inside she was rejoicing. _He hasn't changed, he's still Chuck. He's still MY Chuck_, she thought happily.

"You are welcome. But we still have to get out of this shithole."

"You go ahead Casey. We'll cover you and meet you back in the master bedroom."

"Don't be long," he said and went to join Cole and Morgan. Chuck ran to collect his carbine from where it had fallen and returned to join Sarah and Bryce, who were both firing furiously to force the Germans to keep their heads down.

Casey had meanwhile arrived at the master bedroom and happened to take a look out the window. He saw someone running towards the chateau and told Morgan to give him the M1E7 sniper rifle they had left in the secret passage. He focused through the telescopic sight and saw that it was one of the Ring agents, as he wore an American uniform, and that he was also armed with a sniper rifle. Adjusting his aim slightly, he pulled the trigger and watched with satisfaction as the man dropped to the ground and lay still. He then fired a few more shots, picking off the three men who were following the first.

"Chuck, do you happen to have more ammo for me?" Sarah asked.

"Yeah, I brought a few mags for the Thompsons too. How many do you want?"

"I was asking just in case I might need them," she said. "Reloading," she yelled a second later. Chuck rose and fired a few shots from his carbine. He didn't hit anyone, but dissuaded the SS troopers from venturing from cover. Sarah was back up in a flash, firing her Thompson again. Bryce primed and threw a grenade at the same time a potato masher grenade headed their way. Sarah saw it first and shouted a warning.

"Grenade, RUN!"

"What?" Chuck asked but he was already up and running. Bryce took cover behind a convenient corner. Sarah shoved Chuck into an empty room, but before she could also take cover the grenade went off. The blast lifted her from her feet and sent her flying over the parapet to the dining hall below. Chuck emerged from the room, his ears ringing from the explosion and looked for Sarah. All he saw was her Thompson lying on the floor.

"Sarah? Bryce! Where is Sarah? She should be here," he said, but Bryce was too busy to answer. When he happened to look down, he saw her as she lay motionless on the floor fifteen feet below, a small pool of blood spreading from under her. "No! Sarah!" He started towards the staircase, fully intending to go down there and get her. Bryce realized what he was about to do and grabbed him to stop him.

"Chuck, it's no use," he said.

"Bryce, let me go, I have to get her!"

"She's gone, Chuck." Bryce moved to block Chuck and still have a good field of fire. He mowed down a few more Germans who tried to take advantage of the slackening of the Americans' fire.

"She can't be! Bryce, please, let me go!" Chuck pleaded.

"Sorry buddy, but no one can survive both a grenade and that kind of fall. Stay with me pal. We can't risk losing you too."

"But what if…"

"No Chuck; take her weapon and let's get the fuck outta here." The two emptied the magazines of Bryce's BAR and Sarah's Thompson in the direction of the enemy troops and Bryce tossed a couple more grenades to cover their withdrawal. As they ran to rejoin the others, Chuck was in a daze and moving mechanically, changing the magazine of Sarah's submachine gun and cocking it as he ran behind Bryce.

"Let's go," Bryce said when they met up with Casey, Morgan and Cole.

"Where is Walker, Sergeant Larkin?" Casey asked. Bryce shook his head.

"She didn't make it sir," he said. Morgan gasped when he heard Bryce's words. Looking at his best friend's pained expression he knew it was true.

"Shit," said Casey. "Come on, get in the damned passage and secure the door. Grimes, plant a couple of booby traps just in case the Krauts get wise and find the door."

"Right away sir," Morgan replied.

A few minutes later they reached the exit. Casey yelled a warning so Devon would no they were coming and not shoot them. They emerged into the forest and hurriedly covered and camouflaged the hole again.

"Where is Sarah?" Devon asked, not seeing the blonde agent. He got no reply. He repeated the question to his friends. "Chuck? Morgan? Where is Sarah?"

"She's gone, Captain," Casey said. Devon's face fell. Casey was sad too. Walker had been a great partner, and her absence would be felt. He was also sorry for Bartowski. The Moron and the Skirt, as he affectionately liked to call them, had obviously had something special between them. But he would have to get the kid to focus back in the game and do it soon; while their part in Operation Janus was over, they still had Operation Firefox to carry out.

They were all silent as they marched to the rendezvous point with the Maquis. Chuck took one last look back in the direction of the chateau. Holding Sarah's weapon in a white knuckle grip he silently took a blood oath to avenge the love of his life, even if it cost him his soul in the process. No more Mr. Nice guy for him. From now on he would spread the pain for the Nazis to feel.

Deeper into the forest they encountered a Maquis guard post. Passwords were exchanged and a Maquisard led them to the main camp. Émilien, Carina and Ilsa were there to greet them and radio their report back to London. Carina immediately noticed that one of the team was missing.

"Where is Sarah?" It seemed to be the question of the day. "Chuck, where is she?" Carina insisted. He just shook his head. The others could not say anything.

"Sorry," he mumbled, lowering his head and looking at the ground. Carina suddenly realized the terrible truth.

"No," she gasped. "No, not Sarah, it can't be true." Tears were flowing freely from her eyes. She sank to her knees and started crying. Ilsa and Chuck rushed to support her.

"I know you two were best of friends," he told her as he hugged her. She whispered something in his ear that only he and Ilsa heard. It caused Ilsa to tear up as well and all three to hug even tighter.

"Agent Miller," Casey said softly a minute later, "I'm sorry for your friend, but we need to report back to London for the final phase of Operation Janus and for the diversionary phase of Operation Firefox to commence. Don't let her sacrifice be in vain."

"You are right Colonel," Carina sniffled. "Come with me." She got up and took Casey to the radio. He would compose his report and she would encode it and send it.

Chuck went to find a quiet corner to sit and grieve by himself. As he sat on a tree stump and relived his moments with Sarah, a thought struck him like a bolt of lightning; he thought that Sarah would have wanted him to carry on with the mission and so he was determined to see it to the end. There would be time to mourn her later. He rose and determinedly made his way to Devon and Bryce. He wanted them to again go over the plan for infiltrating the airfield.

**London, England**

The signal from Agent Miller contained a priority code, so it was decoded immediately after being received. A flimsy with the decoded message was then brought to Alex Forrest in her office. She quickly read through it. Her good mood at learning the operation had been a success was tempered by the fact that Agent Sarah Walker had been reported killed in action. Still, for agents getting killed or worse was an occupational hazard. She checked her watch; plenty of daylight still left, so she picked up the phone and placed a call to the OSS liaison officer with the USAAF, giving the go ahead for the airstrike which constituted the final phase of Operation Janus. She leaned back in her seat and rubbed her eyes. One operation completed, one to go. She picked up a notepad and a pen and quickly composed a summary of Miller's report. She called a clerk and ordered him to have it encoded and sent to Washington.

**Occupied France**

A grief stricken Carina sat dazed by the radio. Casey was a few feet away, silent. He appeared to be lost in thought. She didn't blame him. He had lost his deputy commander and he still had an operation to do. Her own thoughts were interrupted by the radio as another message came in. She quickly jotted it down and decoded it. She read it and handed it to Casey. He read it too and nodded. Operation Firefox was still a go and the RAF would obligingly mount a fake raid to draw the German night fighters in the air. After reading it once more, he went to tell the news to Bartowski, Woodcomb and Larkin.

* * *

**A/N (2) ****Just a pinch of history:** "Potato Masher" was the Allied nickname for the German Model 24 and Model 43 Stielhandgranate stick grenades. Look them up in Wikipedia for a bit more information.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N (1):** The action continues. Frankly, I think this is the darkest chapter I have written so far given the amount of violence and in fact I may be stretching the T rating to the breaking point in the last part.

Guest starring in this chapter: John Travolta as MAJ Vic Deakins, Christian Slater as CAPT Riley Hale, Marion Cotillard as Lilly Bertineau and Samy Naceri as Daniel Morales.

I still don't own Chuck or any of the movies referenced and saluted here.

* * *

**February 23****rd**** 1944, RAF Great Dunmow (USAAF Station AAF-164), Essex, England**

"Gentlemen, this raid must take place today, so this briefing will be understandably compressed," the 386th BG S3 told the assembled aviators. "A special request has come from higher headquarters for an important target to be attacked and there is a time limit for the operation. Sixteen aircraft and crews, four from each Squadron in our Group, will take part in the raid. Given our involvement in the Big Week operations, this is the best we can do. The VIII and IX Fighter Commands will provide a heavy escort, as the target is located relatively close to enemy fighter bases. Your target is a chateau, where several German officers are billeted. Your job will be to leave nothing but rubble in your wake. Air and ground reconnaissance shows no flak emplacements in the area, so you can bomb from low altitude to achieve maximum accuracy." The S3 then proceeded to describe the location of the target in detail, show photos of the chateau and provide all the usual information that preceded a combat sortie.

The briefing over, the crews hurried to their B-26B Marauder medium bombers which were waiting fully fueled and armed.

"So, Deak, what do you think about this? I mean, it's kinda unusual to assign us such a mission," said Captain Riley Hale.

"Not much to think about, Hale. We go in, bomb the crap outta the target and come back here," replied Major Vic 'Deak' Deakins, as the two finished strapping themselves into their seats in the cockpit.

"That's not what I'm talking about."

"I know. If it came direct from the higher-ups, I think there is an intelligence operation involved somehow."

"I knew you'd say something like that. OK, let's get started with the preflight checklist."

"OK. Brakes."

"Set."

"Flaps."

"Up."

"Inverters."

"On"

"Fuel booster pumps."

"On."

Once they completed the checklist, Deakins fired up the port R-2800. As soon as it reached operational RPMs, number 2 engine was started as well. The area reverberated with the roar of aircraft engines, as the sixteen Marauders warmed up, taxied to the runway and took off at twenty second intervals. The formation met up with the Mustangs and Thunderbolts of the escort (which had been formed as hastily as the bombing force) over the coast of southeastern England and proceeded towards France. Thus began the final phase of Operation Janus.

**Occupied France**

Sarah regained consciousness with a start. She was hurting all over as she tried to clear her mind and concentrate. The last thing she remembered was shoving Chuck inside a room to save him from a grenade, which went off and sent her flying towards the dining hall below the balcony where she had been with Chuck and Bryce. She had grabbed on to a heavy window curtain and ripped it off as she fell, but it had slowed her fall sufficiently to avoid any major damage to her body. She then noticed the blood; it was hers and it was coming from her left leg. Looking closely, she saw a large glass fragment embedded in her calf. She realized she must have bounced off the large oak table which currently hid her from view and broken a big glass vase in the process.

She crawled under the table, using its heavy wooden structure and the long velvet tablecloth for concealment. Good thing she stayed in cover, because she could hear voices nearby. And the conversation was in German. Gritting her teeth, she pulled the piece of glass from her leg without making a sound. Blood flowed afresh from the wound. She emptied a sulfa pack in it and tightly wrapped a field dressing around it. It would have to do for the moment. She had lost her M1A1, but she still had her M1911A1 and her HDM, which she had kept on her instead of stowing it in the silenced weapons pack. She drew it and ejected the mag as silently as possible; it was full and there was a round in the chamber. She wouldn't have to reload and risk making noise.

As the voices and the footsteps of the Germans in the room receded, she risked a peek under the tablecloth. She was alone for the moment and chose to make her move immediately. She rolled from under the table and ducked into a nearby room. She couldn't risk going to the bedroom to get to the secret passage; there were too many Nazis around, plus Casey almost certainly had had the hidden door booby trapped just in case. She recalled there was another access to the tunnel. It was from a small room adjoining the dining hall, but it was not the room she was currently in. She tried to remember the schematics. Only when she was sure where to go, she continued on her furtive way.

She was relieved to get to her destination undetected. Her relief was short-lived, however, for the gun was knocked from her hand almost as soon as she entered the room. She reacted instinctively, throwing a right hook at the German who had happened to be in the room. He recovered quickly and tried to land a punch himself, but Sarah ducked it and launched a left kick, but the German blocked with his elbow, which connected with her leg right on her wound, causing her to gasp in pain. Seizing the opportunity, her opponent punched her, knocking her down. He punched her twice more but she somehow managed to mostly block the blows to her face before they did any damage and then his fingers closed around her neck. Before he could choke her she kicked him off of her, but she couldn't catch her breath in time to get up and he kicked her viciously in the gut, knocking the wind out of her. He kicked her three more times, until she latched on to his leg and brought him down. They scuffled for a moment as they tried to reach for her gun which lay on the floor.

She tore free and got to the pistol first, whirling around and pointing it at the German.

"Don't make a sound, or you die," she said menacingly.

"You do realize the hopelessness of your situation, don't you, Agent what's-your-name?"

"You underestimate me. I'm gonna walk out of here and nobody will know a thing," she retorted.

"No you won't. If you want to live, you will put the gun down and tell us all we want to know."

"Or else?"

"Or else I will not hesitate to take hostages from the town and start executing them until you and your friends give yourselves up. I'm offering you a good deal, take it."

Her expression hardened. She compressed her lips in a thin line, brought the pistol up and coldly shot him between the eyes. Her own eyes betrayed her emotions as she pulled the trigger. She couldn't risk the Germans taking reprisals against the civilian population or endanger Chuck and the others.

"Bastard," she hissed and turned to find the hidden door. She hadn't gotten two steps before ten SS men filled the room, their guns all aimed at her. She had no choice but to drop her own gun and put her hands above her head.

"A girl bested Obersturmführer Mauser?" Shaw mused, looking at Mauser's corpse and then at her. "He must have been really careless." He had arrived at the chateau half an hour ago, having talked the Miliciens into giving him a ride there and then sent them on their way.

"Why don't you try and find if you can beat me?" Sarah taunted. Shaw refused to be baited. Turning to his men, he switched to German and ordered them to take her to a car. He would personally deliver her to the Gestapo for interrogation. They bound Sarah's hands behind her back and roughly manhandled her out of the chateau and into a Steyr 1500A 4x4 car. Suddenly there was a loud explosion. A man ran up to Shaw and told him that the radio room had been booby trapped and the charges went off when a few men tried to enter it.

Schmitt also went to find Shaw after his shoulder (where Casey had shot him earlier) was patched up.

"What's the situation, Herr Sturmbannführer?"

"Standartenführer Keller is dead. So is Mauser. Schultz was on duty in the radio room, so I'm afraid he must be dead too. And a patrol just found Gruber and his range assistants dead outside the chateau; a sniper must have taken them out. It must have been a good sniper too, as Gruber took a bullet right between the eyes. Stromberg was killed over there," Shaw said, pointing at one of the doors to the dining hall. "I'm still waiting for a final casualty tally. And my convoy with the transmitters was ambushed and destroyed by enemy Commandos. How on earth they found out I don't know."

"What are we going to do with the American whore?"

"Turn her over to the Gestapo, of course, Schmitt. And I'll do it myself. First they'll make her talk, and then she'll pay for what happened here today."

"I almost feel sorry for her," Schmitt said sarcastically. Shaw just laughed evilly.

"I'll also have to find a way to report back to Berlin. Obviously Operation Fulcrum has to be postponed until a new team can be put together. Schmitt, you take over here, if you feel up to it."

"No problem, Herr Sturmbannführer."

"Good. Carry on."

Shaw left the chateau and got in the passenger seat of the car in which Sarah had been placed. A small convoy of three vehicles sped from the chateau towards the town.

Inside the chateau, Schmitt was trying to restore some semblance of order, when a cry from a sentry chilled his blood.

"FLUG ALARM!"

-O-

"Deak, I see it, there it is!"

"Let's go get 'em, Hale!"

The Marauders split up to attack from different directions, each section went in line astern formation and started their shallow dives towards the target, bomb bay doors open. With no flak to bother them and with a strong fighter escort ready to ward off Luftwaffe interceptors it was almost like a practice run on the bombing range.

"The fuckers are running like cockroaches," said Deakins' bombardier from his vantage point in the glazed nose. "Bombs away," he added as the B-26 flew over the chateau.

"Wooo-hooo!" Hale exclaimed as Deakins pulled up from the bomb run. The fifteen bombers following also unloaded their bombs on the target. They couldn't miss. Soon the chateau was reduced to a pile of smoking rubble as the delay fuzed five hundred pounders penetrated the walls and exploded inside. The Germans inside, including Schmitt, died horrible deaths, blown apart in the explosions, crushed by the rubble or trapped and burned alive in the fires the bombs started, the lucky ones being those who died instantly. Deakins' tail gunner opened up with his two .50 caliber machine guns at the Krauts in the courtyard and some of the Marauders used their heavy forward firing armament to strafe those who tried to escape.

"Hale, I see a three-vehicle convoy on the move down there."

"Let's give them our greetings then."

"Kein flucht, assholes," muttered Deakins.

The Marauder dove towards the vehicles, the five fixed guns in the nose ready and the bombardier peering through the sights of his flexible gun.

"Get off the road, idiot!" Shaw screamed at the driver.

"I can't! There is nowhere to go!"

Sarah thought it was ironic. She'd so far survived what had been originally almost considered a suicide mission by some, only to end up being strafed by American aircraft. The car swerved to an abrupt stop and everyone exited and ran for cover, Shaw dragging her behind him. The two cars that had stopped were chewed apart by the concentrated fire of the Marauder's guns. The leading car was still speeding along, its driver obviously hoping to shake off the big aircraft pursuing them. Deakins was handling the bomber like a fighter and banked steeply to keep the fleeing car in sight. Wheeling the plane in a tight turn and risking a stall, he pointed the nose at his new target. Once he had the car in his sights he opened fire again. The car disappeared in a cloud of dust kicked up by the impacts of the .50 caliber rounds on the dirt road and exploded when they found their mark and touched off the gas tank. Deakins pulled up again to rejoin the formation and head for home. The operation had been a resounding success.

Sarah was left wondering if it might have been better if she had died during the raid. Now all the future had in store for her was torture, more torture and multiple rapes at the hands of the Nazis. Death when it came would be a release.

Shaw gathered the survivors and decided to head on foot for the nearest friendly outpost, in this case the base of the Miliciens who had rescued him earlier.

-O-

Lilly Bertineau was the town postmistress. What wasn't widely known about her was that she was the daughter of a General in the Free French Army and that she was involved with the Resistance. She had managed to tap into the Germans' telephone network and would regularly listen in and report her findings to Émilien. A light came on in the switchboard, indicating a call to the office of the local German Commandant. She plugged in a couple of wires, picked up a handset and listened carefully. When she finally put it down she was overcome by a sense of urgency. Leaving her assistant in charge of the post office, she ran to find Daniel Morales, her fiancé. He was in his garage, working on his Peugeot sedan. Before the war it had been his pride and joy and he had it painstakingly tuned to outrun just about everything on the road. She quickly explained the situation to him and he told her to go back to work and he would take care of everything. He decided to drop everything and go tell the news to his friend Émilien immediately. There might be just enough time for the Maquis to act on Lilly's information.

Chuck had just finished going over the plan for the hijacking of the Junkers with Devon and Bryce for the fifth time. They still had time before they would have to head for the airfield, so he went to talk to Carina. They needed each other's support right now. He found her sitting forlornly by the radio tent. She gave him a sad smile when she saw him approaching. Before they could begin their conversation, there was a commotion at Émilien's command post. A tall, dark man was talking excitedly to the French officer and gesturing animatedly. Intrigued, Carina approached the two men.

"Émilien, what's going on?"

"Carina, Daniel here has some interesting information. I think you'd better call the Colonel. He'll want to hear it."

"Chuck," Carina said, "get Casey please."

"Right away," he replied. He returned a minute later with Casey.

"Captain, Agent Miller, what's going on?"

"We have some interesting information for you, Colonel," replied Émilien.

"Let's hear it."

"One of my people in town intercepted a telephone call made to the local German headquarters from the Milice outpost. The caller placed an urgent request to send Gestapo agents to take custody of a spy captured earlier."

"What?"

"The Germans are holding a captured spy at the Milice outpost."

"Then Sarah… Sarah is alive!" Carina was exuberant.

"Are your sources reliable, Captain?" Casey was more guarded. He wanted to be hopeful, but, as the commanding officer, he had to take everything into account and overlook nothing.

"My source is impeccable, Colonel. Every piece of information she has given us has proved to be invaluable."

"She?"

"The town postmistress; she has accessed the enemy telephone lines and she can listen in on any conversation undetected."

"Did the caller mention anything about the convoy or the chateau?"

"No, but Daniel said Lilly told him that the caller, who identified himself as an SD officer, requested access to secure communications equipment in order to contact Berlin."

"Does that SD officer have a name Captain?"

"He identified himself as Sturmbannführer Schwalenberg." When the Frenchman mentioned the name, Chuck flashed.

"I know who he is," he said.

"Is he…"

"Yes, Casey, he's a member of the Ring. We know him as Shaw. Schwalenberg is his real name."

"We can't leave Sarah in their hands, Casey, we must do something," Carina implored.

"I don't want to leave her either, Miller, but we still have a mission and we have to see the big picture too. There may be not enough time to go after her. She's tough, maybe she won't talk."

"Casey, everyone talks. The Gestapo has methods to make sure people do talk."

"She's right Casey," added Chuck. "Even if she holds out long enough for us to complete the mission and get away, she still knows everything about the Maquis, the hideouts and many of the contacts."

"You are right Bartowski, but what can we do?"

"Call London and tell them to postpone the RAF feint by about an hour, two if they can. It's winter, Casey; nights are long. We can afford a delay if it means getting her back."

"Okay. I agree. Good idea Bartowski. Miller, do as he said."

"Gladly."

"Miller?"

"Yes, Casey?"

"I was wondering how you keep your radio transmissions from being pinpointed by enemy radio direction finding."

"Come here," she told him. "You know who I work for, right?" Carina asked quietly.

"Of course I know; you work for the OSS."

"Yes, but my immediate superior is-"

"Orion, I remember now. General Montgomery mentioned him. Walker thought he was a myth, but the General said he is very real."

"Exactly. And since I'm a member of his network, I have a little something he designed: the best compact burst transmission device in the world. It can send a whole message in so short a time that RDF'ing cannot pick it up."

"OK, go send the message. Ask for a delay of at least an hour. And I want to know the answer as soon as you get it."

"I'm on it."

Chuck had gone to tell the news to the other members of the team.

"She's alive!"

"What did you just say Chuck?" Devon asked.

"Sarah! She's in the Germans' hands, but alive. We also know exactly where she is. Casey is working on a rescue plan right now."

"Chuck, I'm sorry man," said Bryce, "I should have let you go get her when we were back at the chateau."

"Bryce, the important fact is that she's alive and we are going to save her."

"Well gentlemen," Bryce said, "you heard the man. Let's get ready." Morgan, Devon and Cole immediately started checking their weapons. Chuck followed suit a moment later.

**London England**

As usual, Carina's message arrived in Alex's office immediately after being decoded. She read it carefully. She was mostly glad Walker was not dead, but the implications were not to be ignored. If Walker cracked under torture the entire Resistance network in the area would be compromised. Agents were always told they'd better be dead when they fell into the hands of the Germans. Still, her CO believed he could get her back alive and in the process eliminate one more Ring officer plus a Milice unit and perhaps even some Gestapo agents, which would be an added bonus.

Alex considered her options. She could send the request to her superiors, but this could mean an unacceptable delay until they made up their minds. No, a judgment call was required here. She called the RAF liaison officer and told him to have the RAF mission postponed by an hour and a half. When he asked for authorization she brusquely told him that there was a hiccup in an operation of which he had no need to know and the delay was necessary. When he finally acquiesced, she had a radio operator send the appropriate reply to Agent Miller.

**Occupied France**

"It's here!" Carina yelled. "The reply from London!"

"Decode it Miller," said Casey. It took her a few minutes. She read it twice before she gave the assembled team the news.

"London agreed! They are giving us an extra hour and a half!"

"What are we waiting for? Saddle up and move out people," commanded Casey. They started marching at a brisk pace through the woods towards the Milice outpost accompanied by Émilien, Daniel and twenty fully armed Maquisards.

**Washington DC**

It was just past midday, local time, when Diane Beckman burst into General Montgomery's office, holding two message forms in her hands.

"Roan, we have more news from Lieutenant Forrest on Operations Janus and Firefox!"

"What do they say?"

"Operation Janus is finished successfully. The chateau was bombed as planned. Colonel Casey had already reported that many Ring Abteilung agents were eliminated. The consensus is that Operation Fulcrum has been crippled."

"Is that all?"

"No Roan, there is more. Agent Walker is in enemy hands, but alive. Colonel Casey is planning a rescue operation and Lieutenant Forrest bought them some extra time."

"Walker is alive?"

"Yes, yes she is."

"Good thing I forgot to have the telegram sent to her father."

"Aren't you worried?"

"About Casey deviating from the original plan to go get Walker out?"

"Exactly."

"No, I'm not worried. Casey and his people are very competent and Walker deserves to be given a chance to come back alive."

**Occupied France**

A Milicien splashed a bucketful of ice cold water on Sarah, bringing her around for another interrogation session. She was hanging by her wrists which were shackled to a chain looped around a roof beam in a small shed, her feet just touching the floor. She weakly shook her head to clear the water from her eyes. Every intake of breath was painful, which meant her ribs were badly bruised, if not already cracked. The field dressing had been ripped off and there was still some blood trickling from the wound in her leg.

The Milice interrogator grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back to look into her eyes while barking a question to her. As always, she remained stubbornly silent. He hit her again in the stomach with a short lead pipe. She grunted in pain but said nothing. So far they had hit her only in the torso. It was a small piece of luck. Had they worked on her face the swelling might have rendered her unable to see anything. The only facial injuries she had sustained so far were a small cut on her lip and a bruise from Mauser's punches.

Sarah actually had a plan; the worst case scenario was that she would let the Miliciens batter her to a point beyond feeling more pain. This way she would be useless to the German interrogators and they would just shoot her and put her out of her misery. But in addition to planning for the worst she was also hoping and planning for the best; she had swiped a paperclip from a table and she fully intended to use it to free herself by picking the locks on the cuffs – if they ever left her alone for a few minutes.

The interrogation was interrupted by two men who entered the shed. They looked like the stereotype Gestapo agents, fedoras, leather trench coats and all. One of them voiced, in strong terms, his displeasure for the Miliciens having jumped the gun and commenced the interrogation on their own. He then turned and took a good look at Sarah. The blonde was quite familiar to him.

"Ah, so, Fräulein Burton, it's really nice to see you again," he said facetiously.

"Zarnow," she said disgustedly, having recognized the Nazi, "too bad I didn't get the chance to kill you in Paris."

"It seems you two are old friends," said the other German. "Herr Zarnow, won't you introduce me to your friend here?"

"Yes, where are my manners? Fräulein Burton, may I present my colleague Otto Von Vogel. Herr Von Vogel, this is Agent Samantha Burton of the OSS. She gave us quite a lot of trouble in Paris."

"I wish I could say I was enchanted, Fräulein," Von Vogel said.

"Cut me loose and I'll introduce myself properly," she taunted.

"I forgot to mention that Fräulein Burton has a preference for knives as a weapon, Otto," commented Zarnow.

"Fräulein," said Von Vogel, "as you Americans say, we can do this the easy way or my way. It's up to you to choose which way you prefer."

"Eat shit," she spat.

"This is no language for a young lady," Von Vogel scolded. "I believe the Fräulein needs to be taught a lesson in manners," he added and nodded at Zarnow, who backhanded Sarah hard across the face. She spat out some blood and turned to look at them again, her face a twisted mask of malevolence.

"You two will be dead before the day is over," she threatened. She had to buy time for her team to complete the mission and get out of France. She was also determined not to say anything to compromise Carina, Ilsa and the local Resistance.

"You are in no position to make threats, Fräulein, especially since you cannot act on them."

"You'll change your mind when I start skinning you alive and-" Sarah's threat was cut off when Zarnow struck her in the gut with his knee, leaving her coughing and gasping for air.

"You were saying," Von Vogel prompted.

"Baise-toi, sale Boche!" Sarah snarled in French.

"The lady still needs to be taught some manners," said Von Vogel. Zarnow hit her in the left kidney.

"Ich töte Sie, hundschwein!" Sarah's new threat prompted Zarnow to stomp hard on her injured leg. She clenched her fists, screwed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth. She groaned a bit but said nothing.

"Well, Fräulein Burton? Are you going to say anything useful for a change?"

"Fuck you!" Sarah barked. Zarnow shook his head, reached into a bag that was in the shed and picked up a handful of salt, which he rubbed in her open leg wound. Sarah screamed in pain. She didn't want to, but she couldn't hold it back. But she still told the Germans nothing.

"Jonas, this is not working. We'll kill her before getting anything useful out of her," Von Vogel told Zarnow.

"What are you suggesting, Otto?"

"I suggest we resort to more… refined methods. Please send someone to get my bag from the car."

"I know what you are thinking. Good idea. She is considerably weakened and will not be able to resist for much longer. Soon she'll tell us everything we want to know."

Zarnow went to the door and spoke to the Milicien standing guard outside. He then rejoined his colleague and their prisoner. A couple of minutes later the Milicien returned with a small black leather doctor's bag. Sarah saw it and guessed what would follow. She was hoping she would still be able to keep from revealing any useful information to her interrogators.

"Ah, I believe it's time to use the scopolamine, or maybe the sodium thiopental," said Von Vogel, taking two small glass vials out of the bag.

"Use the scopolamine, Otto. The other drug might be too powerful for her condition. We want to get her to talk, not kill her – yet."

Von Vogel shrugged in accord and filled a syringe from the scopolamine vial. Turning to Sarah, he grabbed her left arm, pulled her sleeve down and prepared to find a vein to inject the drug.

"No, NO!" Sarah yelled and struggled to break the German's hold on her. Zarnow moved in to help hold her down, but she kicked Von Vogel, sending him stumbling a few steps back before they could stop her. Zarnow hit her hard in the solar plexus, causing her to have a fit of coughing and wheezing. As she was momentarily stunned, Von Vogel stuck the needle in her arm and pushed the plunger.

"There," he said. "Now we only have to wait a few minutes for the drug to take effect. We'll be back to continue our chat, Fräulein." He and Zarnow exited the shed, leaving her alone inside.

Sarah was secretly rejoicing. This was the chance she'd been waiting for. Fighting the influence of the drug, she deftly bent the paperclip and started working on the cuffs. She managed to suppress a cry of joy as the first lock clicked open. One more minute and the second lock was done with. She rubbed her wrists and was pondering an exit strategy when she heard voices outside. The Germans were returning to check up on her. _Damn_, she thought. Thinking fast, she put her hands in the cuffs again, careful not to lock them. The Germans dismissed the Milicien who was guarding the shed and entered.

"Fräulein Burton, are you ready to start talking now?" Zarnow asked.

"You are so dead, Zarnow," she said. She had to try to focus and not let the scopolamine loosen her tongue and start her talking about things that actually mattered.

"Really? And how would you do that?"

"I… I am going to get that bottle from the table, break it and use it to gut you like a fish. Then I will kill your friend there."

"You don't seem to be in a position to do all you just said."

"You know my handcuffs?"

"What of them?"

"I picked them," Sarah grinned venomously and displayed her now free hands. The two Gestapo agents were shocked and did not react for a precious few seconds. It was all Sarah needed. She snatched the bottle from the table and in the same move smashed it against the wall. Then she lunged forward and stuck the jagged glass in Zarnow's gut. A look of pain and confusion appeared on the German's face. She twisted the makeshift weapon and had the satisfaction of causing her victim more pain. Then his eyes glazed over and he crumpled to the floor, dead.

Von Vogel snapped out of it just then and reached for his gun. Sarah saw him and hurled the broken bottle at him, knocking the Walther PPK from his hand. Launching herself at him, she tackled him before he could run out the door. He might have been an expert interrogator, but he wasn't trained in hand to hand combat like Sarah was. Even with her injuries, she quickly gained the upper hand and eventually snapped his neck. She let Von Vogel's body drop next to Zarnow's and paused, breathing hard from the exertion and the pain. When she was again breathing normally, she bent over and picked up the PPK. She took a couple of extra magazines from its owner's corpse and also took Zarnow's Walther P38 and more ammo. She was about to open a window and get the hell out of there when she felt the cold steel of a gun pressed against her back.

"Drop the guns, Fräulein," Shaw said. Sarah obeyed and raised her hands. "It seems that my countrymen are consistently underestimating you. I will not make the same mistake," Shaw added.

He had no chance to say anything more as gunfire and explosions erupted outside. He realized the outpost was under attack. He also knew he had to get the prisoner to the nearest German military installation where she could be securely held before being interrogated again. He put a choke hold on Sarah and dragged her out the door and towards the motor pool.

* * *

**A/N (2):** Good thing the series had a villain with a German sounding name (Jonas Zarnow in Chuck vs the Helicopter) and of course Otto (in Chuck vs the Role Models). I hope you like the use I found for these two.

**And some history:** I originally wanted to send in a BG equipped with the Douglas A-20G (solid nose with 6 guns) and A-20J (glass nose with only 2 guns) light bombers, but the three such equipped groups of the 9th Air Force entered combat in March of 1944, although at least one was in England in early February. The Martin B-26B Marauder medium bomber was however well established by the story's timeframe, plus it had a longer range. (See Wikipedia for the dates the BGs were operational and also for RAF Great Dunmow.)

The 386th BG Marauders are late B models, with increased wingspan, added fixed forward firing guns and cockpit armor. Normally the 9th bombed fixed targets from medium altitudes to minimize losses to antiaircraft artillery fire, but the type could (and did) perform low altitude missions.

VIII and IX Fighter Commands: The organic fighter arms of the 8th and 9th Air Forces respectively.

Big Week took place in late February of 1944 and although it did not have the desired effect on German aircraft production, it caused heavy and irreplaceable aircrew casualties to the Luftwaffe. (Wikipedia for convenience)

The S3 is the operations officer of a military unit.

Burst transmission devices existed during that period. It only fit that Orion would make a cool one.

For information on truth drugs see the related entries in Wikipedia.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N (1):** As I was feeling inspired, I wrote this chapter right after the previous one.

Also starring Rachel Bilson as Lou Palone.

I still don't own Chuck and the other movies, but I really like watching them.

* * *

**February 23****rd**** 1944, Occupied France**

Chuck was with Devon and Morgan hidden behind trees, watching from an elevated position on a nearby slope while waiting for the sentries to be taken out and the Maquisards to move into position for the assault on the Milice outpost. And he saw everything from the moment Zarnow and Von Vogel entered the shed. Devon had to snatch the gun from his hands when he aimed it at Zarnow's head after the Gestapo agent kneed Sarah in the gut. Later, both Devon and Morgan had to use their combined weight to keep Chuck down when Sarah screamed in pain as Zarnow rubbed salt in her wound.

"Chuck, stay down, buddy," Devon said when they managed to get Chuck to stop struggling. "You aren't going to help one little bit if you go off half-cocked in there and you'll probably get yourself and Sarah killed. I know it's difficult, but Casey ordered us both to stay right here."

"Devon's right," added Morgan. "The Colonel and the others will handle this. Please let us do our job, OK pal?"

"I can't help it guys… You know I love her. I can't see her suffer like this and…"

"We know," Devon reassured him. "Trust me, those bastards will pay for everything and we will get Sarah back. The plan is good. Stick to the plan Chuck."

"Hey, Devon, what are they doing down there?" Morgan asked after a short time of silence.

"They are injecting her with something, probably some sort of truth serum. And now they are going out. Probably to give the drug time to work."

"What is she doing?" Chuck asked, seeing her doing something with her hands. Devon peered intently through his small binoculars before replying.

"She's working on the locks of the cuffs with what looks like a paperclip she had hidden in her sleeve. Smart girl."

"Everyone said she is one of the best," said Chuck proudly.

In the meantime Casey, Bryce and Cole had sneaked up on the sentries and swiftly knifed them into silence. Casey then turned and waved the all clear to Émilien. The Maquisards started approaching the building where the Miliciens were billeted.

"Whoa, did you guys see that?" Devon asked, seeing Sarah kill the two Gestapo agents.

"That's my girl," smiled Chuck. "Should one of us go and bring her here?"

The relief was short lived, however, as they witnessed Shaw prevent Sarah's escape. Suddenly, a Milicien who had gone out to get something from a storage shack spotted the Maquisards and shouted a warning; it was the last thing he ever did as a shot from Émilien sent him to the ground, dead. Mayhem ensued. The Maquisards fired two PIAT bombs inside the house and raked it with gunfire, covering two of them who came close enough to hurl satchel charges and grenades in through the broken windows. Some Miliciens and SS troopers tried to escape out the back door. Émilien had anticipated the move and had four men with automatic weapons covering it. The would-be escapees were mowed down by a hail of lead. As per Casey's plan a team of Maquisards led by Casey himself would enter the house and clear it. They didn't really have much to do. The PIAT bombs, satchel charges and grenades had already done most of the clearing. Only a few shots were fired inside the house as the Maquis meted out just punishment on the surviving traitors.

Meanwhile, Shaw was trying to escape with Sarah. Chuck was not about to let him succeed, not when he was so close to getting the love of his life back. The Nazi was going for a car. If he got one they would have no way to stop him. Chuck looked around for a weapon, anything he could use, since Devon had taken his (Sarah's really) Thompson away from him and his Colt was useless at that range. His eyes rested on the 2.36" bazooka they had with them. Almost before he realized it, he flashed on the data sheet and operating instructions of the weapon. He picked it up, made sure it was loaded and ready, checked the back blast area and aimed it at a truck. He pulled the trigger and the rocket whooshed out of the tube and flew true, turning the truck into a fireball on impact. Fortunately Shaw and Sarah were still outside the blast radius. Devon and Morgan were too busy firing at some Miliciens who had come running out of a barn to notice.

Realizing that his fastest avenue of escape was cut off, Shaw decided to try and lose his pursuers in the bushes down the road. To get there he had to cross some exposed ground but it was a gamble he would have to take.

Chuck took off after Shaw. He now only had his M1911A1, having discarded the bazooka. Gun in hand, he ran at an angle, hoping to intercept the German before he could disappear in the bushes.

Shaw was beginning to feel better. He was at the bridge that was spanning a stream with nobody apparently pursuing him. Only the bridge and thirty more meters left to go. He started again dragging his unwilling charge across the bridge. She was slowing him down, so he decided to throw her into the water and be done with her. He told her she was going to die. Sarah knew it would be no use trying to fight Shaw. She was exhausted and the drug had further weakened her, but on the plus side it had dulled the pain somewhat. Zarnow and Von Vogel had been easy; she'd had the surprise on her side and neither of the Gestapo agents was combat trained. They were only good at torturing helpless people. Shaw was different, a combat hardened veteran. And she only had her trusty paperclip. Not much of a weapon. In fact it was not a weapon at all. And when she had rejected most of her options by the time they were halfway across, she heard a voice she had never expected to hear again; a voice she had gotten to know better than her own.

"Schwalenberg!"

Shaw's blood ran cold when he heard someone call him by his real name. He shoved Sarah towards the railing and turned to see who it was, Luger drawn. In the light provided by a single bulb illuminating the bridge he saw a man in American paratrooper's fatigues coming towards him, a .45 caliber pistol in hand. He looked somewhat familiar.

"Karl Bartow?" Shaw asked, taking a closer look.

"Actually, it's Chuck Bartowski."

"You are an American."

"Yes, I am. Drop the gun and let her go Shaw. Für Sie ist der Krieg vorbei." _For you the war is over_. Hearing that phrase Shaw knew it was now kill or be killed. The look in the American's eyes betrayed his feelings for the woman who was with them on the bridge.

Sarah was watching the exchange while clutching at the bridge railing for support. She was elated to see her Chuck again, but she was worried about him. It would have definitely been better if it was someone else, someone like Casey in his place.

Shaw raised his pistol to fire. Chuck was faster; he pulled the trigger twice in rapid succession. Two red flowers bloomed on the front of Shaw's uniform where Chuck's shots had hit him. The force of the heavy bullets' impact sent him reeling backwards against the railing. He toppled over, his instinct of self preservation causing him to grab onto anything that could stop his fall. It just happened to be Sarah's hand. He started pulling her down with him.

"SARAH!" Chuck yelled and rushed to grab her before she fell over the side of the bridge. He held on to her and looked in the dying man's eyes, but the German wouldn't let go of her as he hung suspended over the water. Eventually, after several agonizing seconds, Shaw's hand started losing its hold on hers and he finally plummeted down and splashed into the water of the stream. Sarah had lost consciousness; the pain from her battered body being pulled against the steel railing by Shaw's weight was too much. Chuck pulled her upright and lovingly held her close, one hand supporting her head. He was feeling relief as she had almost been taken away from him, happiness at finally having her back alive and sadness at having been forced to take a life. He would not regret it though. It was either Shaw or Sarah and it was no contest. Sarah meant the world to him.

Chuck's thoughts were interrupted by a car screeching to a halt next to them. He whirled around, gun at the ready, to find himself staring at Daniel Morales' smiling face.

"I see you both took out the Boche and saved the girl, mon ami," the Frenchman said. "Need a ride?"

"Sure, thank you Daniel," Chuck said and carefully got in the Latil M7T1 4x4 car Daniel had appropriated from the Miliciens' motor pool, cradling Sarah in his arms. At the destroyed outpost Daniel stopped again to pick up more passengers. One of them was Casey who had suffered a bullet wound in the left thigh while clearing the house, which Devon had ably cleaned and bandaged after digging out the bullet.

"Bartowski, where the hell have you been? As I recall I told you to stay with your buddies Woodcomb and Grimes," he growled. He could not see Sarah who lay across Chuck's lap.

"Sorry Casey, I had to go get Sarah. Shaw had her and I couldn't let him get away with her."

"And what became of Shaw, Moron?"

"He's dead."

"You killed him?"

"He gave me no other choice."

"Well, you finally grew a set, Bartowski. Good job."

The conversation was also heard by Morgan, Devon Bryce and Cole who had also piled into the big car. They all appeared to be genuinely impressed with Chuck. Before they got moving Devon quickly examined Sarah. She appeared to have suffered no internal injuries, so Devon just cleaned and dressed her leg wound before taking the middle front seat and tapping Daniel on the shoulder, indicating they should get going. He would perform a more thorough examination later.

"Hold on mes amis! When I was a taxi driver in Marseilles before the war, people would frequently, how do you Americans say, puke after the ride," the Frenchman said and floored the accelerator pedal.

"Why would they puke, Daniel?" Morgan yelled the question over the roar of the engine.

"Because I drive really fast!"

Daniel pushed the car to its limits. Every time they would come close to a Maquis guard post, Daniel would give three short and one long blasts from the horn, the Morse code for the letter V, signifying Victory. This way the Maquisards would know that the approaching vehicle was friendly. They made it to the same clearing where Team Intersect had parachuted in a record time. When the car came to a stop, the doors opened and Bryce and Cole stumbled out and threw up. Morgan and Devon helped Casey out as Carina and Ilsa ran towards them. A huge smile split Carina's face as she saw Chuck carry Sarah out. She immediately moved to help him.

"Chuck, how is she?"

"She'll be fine, don't worry Carina. Where can I put her?"

"Come with me," she said and guided Chuck to a small, well camouflaged shelter, essentially a shack half buried in the ground. He gently laid her on a cot and Devon checked her up again.

"Pulse is normal, breathing is OK, pupil dilation normal. No signs of internal injuries," he announced. "Just let her rest."

"OK, thank you Captain Woodcomb," said Carina.

At the prearranged time the Ventura swooped in to land on the crude but comfortably long airstrip in the middle of the clearing. Grafton had flown the last 150 miles on the deck, keeping clear of populated areas and thus managed to avoid being detected. He taxied towards the group of people waiting at the edge of the clearing and stopped. The door opened and Alex Forrest jumped down on the ground, clad in a flight suit and holding a submachine gun. The stinger gunner was at the door, also armed, while the top turret gunner was alert and ready to use his twin fifties to deal with any threat. Carina ran to the aircraft.

"We need a stretcher," she told Alex, who in turn repeated the request to the stinger gunner, who unclipped a folded stretcher from the fuselage wall and passed it over. Sarah was placed in it and gently carried inside the aircraft. Ilsa, Carina, Casey, Morgan and Cole also climbed aboard, followed by Alex. The door was closed and secured and the PV-1 taxied to the end of the strip and took off into the wind.

"OK, Captain, all we have to do now is do our job," Chuck told Devon.

"We better hurry or we'll be late," Awesome replied checking his watch.

"Daniel, can you take us close to the airfield?" Chuck asked.

"No problem, mon ami. It's easy."

"Oh no, not again," groaned Bryce.

Daniel once again drove like a madman, and got them close to the airfield perimeter. They stopped where they could not be seen or heard from the airfield.

"OK Daniel," said Devon, "we are going in. You wait here just in case something goes wrong and we have to beat a hasty retreat. If you see trouble coming your way, just go. If no alarms are raised, go home when aircraft start taking off. You got it?"

"I understand. Good luck."

"Thanks. We'll need it."

Chuck, Devon and Bryce waited until the armored vehicle patrolling the perimeter had passed before heading for a gap in the fence and running towards the nearest cover. Once they got past the perimeter patrols it was surprisingly easy. The cold weather helped, as no one in their right mind would go out unless they had some serious business to attend to. They only had to carefully skirt the sandbagged flak gun emplacements which were always manned, but it was not really a problem, as they knew their locations from studying the maps and aerial photographs of the place. Darting from cover to cover they reached the aircraft dispersal area in about twenty minutes. According to their Resistance contacts their target was in one of the few protective revetments in the airfield. They reached it without incident and Chuck confirmed it was indeed the aircraft they were after. Bryce quietly walked into the revetment, alert for any sign of human presence. The place was virtually deserted. He motioned to the others and all three climbed into the Junkers through the belly access hatch and settled in the spacious cockpit. It was a relief to find some shelter from the biting wind.

Devon checked his watch again and announced that the RAF feint should be drawing the German night fighters out in about half an hour.

In the meantime, Grafton was steering a course directly towards England. He only knew two airfields there, Tempsford and Alconbury. He decided to head for the latter, as it was home to American units and the base medical facilities would definitely be better than any such thing in Tempsford. Virgil Cole quickly plotted a course and gave Grafton a heading.

Devon gave Chuck and Bryce a Benzedrine pill each and took one himself. The stimulant would help them keep awake and alert for the next few hours. He could not resist looking at his watch one more time. Suddenly they heard voices outside the aircraft. The ground crew members were removing the protective covers and the flight crewmen were climbing inside. Major Rechenberg was the first in, and found himself staring down the muzzles of three guns.

"Get over there and keep quiet," Bryce ordered in German. Günther and Emil were similarly subdued as they boarded the Junkers. Bryce took their flying helmets and had Devon put one on. He put on another when he made sure Chuck had the Germans covered with his weapon. The unsuspecting ground crew chief gave the OK sign to the men in the cockpit and Devon started the engines. As they taxied to the runway Bryce was monitoring the radio and responded in German to a call. They were cleared for takeoff and soon they were airborne, heading to 'intercept' the RAF raiders. Once at a safe altitude Chuck and Bryce bound the three Germans securely and crammed them in a corner where they would not bother them.

"Sorry about all this folks," Bryce told the three prisoners, "but you understand we can't risk you deciding to play heroes and do something infinitely stupid. Just relax and enjoy the flight. And cheer up; now the war is over for you and you'll get to spend the rest of it in a nice, warm, safe POW camp."

"Bryce, what did you just say to them?" Chuck asked, not taking his eyes off the radar displays.

"I just told them to play nice and not to do anything they'll regret. They will be guests of the Allies when we land and from what I hear POWs are really having a good time."

"Don't you guys think it's time for Phase 2?" Devon asked. Phase 2 was something they had decided to do while going over the plans back at the Maquis' base in the woods. Among the documents they had recovered during their raid on the chateau was one informing Keller that a KG.200 operated transport aircraft painted in American colors would be coming to assist in the parachute training of the Ring agents; the flight plans were included and Devon had suggested intercepting and destroying it. Chuck and Bryce had agreed.

"We are still on course Devon. We should be intercepting any minute now."

Sure enough Chuck reported a radar contact just six minutes later. Following his instructions Devon brought the Junkers in a wide turn which would place them behind the DC-3. Chuck continued to give Devon range and altitude readings from the radars until they acquired visual contact. Then Devon closed in on the unsuspecting aircraft and when it was in range he pressed the firing button. The short burst from the four MG 151/20 cannon was enough to set the unprotected aircraft on fire. Its pilots dead at the controls, it flipped over and plunged earthwards. Chuck and Bryce confirmed the kill and congratulated Devon. The task completed, Phase 3, which was none other than the final leg of the flight to England, began.

**Alconbury England**

Lou Palone looked longingly at a photo of her fiancé Stavros. He was fighting in Greece with a Greek-American OSS unit and she hadn't heard from him in a while, as it was impossible to have mail service to and from an occupied country. At least she had something to do, having joined the American Red Cross. And so there she was, manning the refreshment truck, providing sandwiches (her specialty), coffee and other beverages and refreshments to the base personnel. Some Carpetbagger mechanics interrupted her reverie. Making the customary small talk, she gave them their sandwiches and some coffee.

They were about to leave when an aircraft was heard approaching. From their vantage point near the control tower Lou and the others could see it was a twin-engined job, as it came in to land, all lights on. Suddenly a red flare shot out from the aircraft, meaning it was coming in with casualties aboard. Fire trucks and ambulances raced towards the runway and Lou, being a trained nurse, hitched a ride in a jeep and raced to join the emergency crews.

The aircraft turned off the runway and rolled to a stop. The door opened and two men with blackened faces jumped out and helped maneuver a stretcher out. Lou was astonished to see that the patient was a beautiful blonde woman, but then again strange things were going on at the base. A man with a leg injury also hobbled from the aircraft onto the tarmac. Lou and the medics immediately took them to the waiting ambulances and raced towards the infirmary.

**Over the Channel**

"Chuck, are you still plotting our course?"

"Yes, Devon, I am. This radar is a good copy of the H2S. The Isle of Wight is on our 10 o'clock. Stay on this course for now. Better to avoid overflying either Portsmouth or Brighton. Who knows what trigger-happy gunners they got down there."

"Yeah, I'm not in the mood for getting blown out of the sky by our own people either."

"I'll give you a course to Alconbury as soon as we are over the coast."

"We are going to Alconbury? Why not Tempsford?"

"Alconbury has better facilities. And it was the original plan to get the Junkers there and turn it over to the USAAF."

"You are right Chuck."

"Aircraft, 12 o'clock high," announced Bryce.

"British Mosquito night fighters," said Devon as they came closer.

"Devon, turn on all the navigation lights and lower the landing gear. They must see we are not a threat. I'll try to reach them on the radio."

As it turned out the Mosquitoes were their escort to Alconbury. Chuck made a mental note to thank Montgomery and Forrest for their foresight.

**RAF Alconbury, England**

The Ju 88 made a perfect landing on the runway and taxied to the parking area. Immediately the aircraft was surrounded by armed Military Policemen. Devon took his flying helmet off, opened a window and smiled at the men below.

"Hey fellas, how are you doing?"

"Who the fuck are you?" The question came from an MP.

"Captain Devon Woodcomb, USAAF and my crew. We also got three POWs for you gents."

"Well, I'll be damned. Send your POWs down first."

"Can do."

The three Germans were untied and ordered off the aircraft. The MPs took them in custody. Chuck, Devon and Bryce also exited the plane, which was then towed to the nearest hangar.

"Did a Navy aircraft come in to land earlier with the rest of our team?" Chuck asked an 801st BG officer.

"Yeah, sure. They had two casualties aboard too. They took them to the infirmary, but didn't keep them there."

"Do you know where they are now?" Bryce asked.

"You'll have to ask someone from Operations."

"Can you take us there?"

"No need to. The Operations Officer is right over there," the man said. They immediately recognized Hennessey, whom they had met on their first day in England. He directed them to another familiar place, the hotel they had stayed in Huntington. The three friends borrowed a jeep and raced to the hotel. They arrived there as Forrest was wrapping up the initial debriefing with the other members of Team Intersect.

"Well, well, well," said Casey, "look who's here. 'Bout time, Bartowski."

"Great to see you made it back, Casey."

"Colonel," said Devon, "mission accomplished."

"Any trouble?" Alex asked.

"None at all," said Chuck. "Thanks for arranging an escort for us too."

"Just doing my job, Lieutenant."

"Call me Chuck. It's not like I outrank you or anything."

"OK then, Chuck. Good job."

"Thanks. You'll find the Junkers waiting in a hangar back at the base."

"OK, we'll do the paperwork later."

"Casey, where is Sarah?" Chuck asked when Alex had left.

"Upstairs, in her room with Carina and Ilsa. They checked her out at the base, took X-Rays, gave her a sedative and said she'll be fine, just like the Captain told us in the first place."

"And how's your leg Casey?"

"I've been hurt worse. It's nothing, really."

"OK, if you gents will excuse me…"

"Dismissed, Bartowski."

Chuck ran upstairs to Sarah's room. As Casey had told him, Carina and Ilsa were there with her.

"Chuck!" Carina exclaimed when she saw him. She rose and hugged him tight. "Thank you for saving my little sister. Casey told me what you did."

"Carina, just so you know, I love her. I always have."

"I know. You guys are made for each other."

Ilsa also hugged Chuck and went to get them all some tea.

Chuck had sent Ilsa and Carina to get some rest, while he stayed watching over Sarah. Once in a while he would check her bandaged leg which was propped up on some pillows. She appeared to be resting comfortably. In the morning she stirred and started waking up.

"Hey," he told her, "how are you feeling?"

"Um, what happened?"

"Everything is OK now, don't worry."

"What about Shaw?"

"He's dead."

"I think I remember; there was a shed and a bridge and he was going to kill me and… you shot him!"

"I couldn't let him hurt you Sarah. He gave me no other choice. But I'm still the Chuck you met back in Castle. I promised you I would always be that same guy and-"

"You saved me," she said and kissed him. They broke the kiss and looked at each other before kissing again. They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Alex entered, carrying a telephone with a speaker on an extension cord.

"General Montgomery wants to talk to you," she said, put down the phone and left.

"Chuck, Sarah, excellent work," the General said, his voice having a tinny ring from the scrambler.

"Thank you General," they chorused.

"I consulted with Colonel Casey, Captain Woodcomb and Lieutenant Forrest. They brought me up to speed. I have an easy new assignment for you two-"

"General," said Chuck, "I believe we could use a few days off."

"Don't worry, Lieutenant Bartowski, it's a nice cushy desk job and-"

Sarah reached over and hung up on the General. The phone rang as Montgomery tried to regain contact. Sarah just ripped the cable out of the telephone.

"I don't know if…" began Chuck, but she interrupted him.

"Shut up and kiss me," she said. And he did.

**February 24****th**** 1944, Berlin, Germany**

Von Roark was walking in the Tiergarten alone trying to clear his head. Earlier that day he had sat through an hour-long tirade Hitler had directed at him and Himmler about the failure of Operation Fulcrum. The breakdown in communications that had resulted in a long delay before Berlin had the big picture did not help either. His post as the Ring Abteilung commanding officer was now at risk. So deep was he in thought that he didn't notice a man approaching him until they were face to face.

"Hello Ted." the man said.

"Stephen?" Von Roark asked, incredulous.

"Goodbye Ted." Stephen Bartowski shot Von Roark with a silenced pistol and killed him. "I've been waiting a long time to do that," he said before turning and disappearing into the night.

At about the same time the RAF was bombing the Telefunken facility where the centimetric radar was being developed. Dr. Busgang was among those killed. Operation Gorgon was added to Orion's string of successes.

**June 6****th**** 1944, D-Day, near Sainte-Mère-Église, Normandy, France**

Two people furtively made their way to an open area at the edge of the town. The sky above them was in tumult. It was filled with aircraft, some of which were going down, German antiaircraft fire and descending paratroopers. One of them landed near the pair. He got out of his parachute gear and noticed them.

"Bonjour Mademoiselle, je suis Américain," he said in grammatically correct, but horribly accented French.

"Moi aussi; bienvenue en France," the woman replied in perfect French.

"Huh?"

"Sarah, why don't you speak English?" her companion asked.

"Chuck, he spoke French first," she retorted. The man threw up his hands in mock exasperation and turned to the paratrooper.

"Never mind my partner pal, she just told you that she's an American too and welcome to France."

"Uh, OK… thanks."

"Let's go find the rest of your unit, we got work to do."

**August 12****th**** 1945, The Castle**

Chuck Bartowski pushed himself up on his elbows and looked out to sea where Sarah was water skiing behind a speedboat. About two months after the end of the war in Europe the OSS had dismantled the training facility and returned the place to its owner. Chuck and Sarah had managed to talk him into renting them a cottage for a couple of weeks. They took the same cottage they had stayed in while in training.

While waiting for her to rejoin him, he thought about the events of the past few months. Devon and Ellie had finally gotten married. Morgan, after being honorably discharged from the French Foreign Legion had been dating Alex Casey, much to her father's chagrin. Kathleen liked him though. Bryce was living with Jill in DC. Carina was also in DC right now, visiting her father. Ilsa, who had no family left back in Russia, had elected to stay with Carina, whom she had come to regard as family. They would start a business together soon. Chuck and Ellie had learned that their father was Orion and that their mother was working for the Secret Service and had left to protect them when an operation had gone badly. Stephen had promised to get in touch with her and bring the family back together.

Sarah finished skiing, deposited her gear in the boat and started swimming for shore. She was wading through the shallows when she spotted Chuck waiting for her on the surf.

"Did you enjoy your skiing Sarah?"

"Oh yes, it was fun. You should try it too, Chuck."

"Maybe later. Right now I have other things to do."

"Like what?" Sarah asked. Chuck produced a small box he had been hiding behind his back and knelt on the sand. He opened the box, revealing a ring.

"Sarah, I fell in love with you from the first moment I saw you here, exactly a year and seven months ago. Now that the war is officially over for us, I have something to ask you. Sarah, will you marry me?"

"Chuck, I fell for you too right here in this place back then too. So yes, I love you too and yes, I will marry you," she said, tears of joy welling up in her beautiful eyes. He slipped the ring on her finger, rose and kissed her passionately. She responded hungrily and before they knew it they were rolling together on the surf, still kissing, the waves lapping over them.

**August 9****th**** 2010, Burbank CA**

"Chuck, Chuck, wake up, this is not awesome, bro!"

"Awesome? What's not awesome?" Chuck asked his brother in law. Devon's eyes were bloodshot and he had three days' stubble on his face.

"The ladies will be coming back soon and the place is a pig sty!"

Chuck was instantly fully awake and took a look at the surroundings. The living room of Casa Walkertowski/Grimes looked like a battlefield, complete with the carnage after a battle. Casey was hogging most of the couch, snoring away. Morgan was sprawled partly on the floor, partly on the couch and partly on Casey, a thin line of drool clinging to his beard. Pizza boxes, cartons of ice cream, cans and bottles of beer, candy bar wrappers and popcorn bowls, all empty, littered the place. Strewn around the home theater system were various DVD boxes; The Eagle Has Landed, The Dirty Dozen, Firefox, Heartbreak Ridge, Flight Of The Intruder, Memphis Belle, Where Eagles Dare, A Bridge Too Far, The Battle of Britain, Tora! Tora! Tora!, The Sands of Iwo Jima, The Battle of Midway, Operation Petticoat, The Guns of Navarone, Force 10 From Navarone, Kelly's Heroes, Is Paris Burning, What Did You Do In The War Daddy, La Grande Vadrouille and more, evidence of the war movie marathon weekend, which had actually began on Friday afternoon, when Ellie had taken Sarah, Kathleen and Alex to a hotel and spa for some relaxation and ladies' quality time.

The movie marathon was actually Morgan's idea, as he wanted to bond with the man he hoped that one day would become his father in law (if Casey didn't kill him first).

"Devon, wake them up, I'll start cleaning up here. Text Ellie and ask her to take the ladies to your place when they get back so that we'll have enough time to tidy up the place."

"You got it bro."

_**THE END**_

_**

* * *

**_

**A/N (2):** That's all folks! I'm glad you enjoyed the whole story and thank you for your reviews.

**The last history lesson:** The Latil M7T1 was a real French made vehicle, several of which were used by the Germans after the fall of France.

The honking signal was also used by SAS jeep patrols operating against German supply lines in France after D-Day. (Time-Life Books World War II The Commandos)

Benzedrine was a synthetic stimulant available for medical and other uses at the time. (Wikipedia)

Stavros would be a member of Company C, 2671 Special Reconnaissance Battalion, also known as the Greek American Operational Group, Office of Strategic Services. Its personnel came mostly from the Greek American 122nd Infantry Battalion, the only US Army unit to be allowed to bear the flag of its members' country of origin together with the American flag. (various online sources)

The Allies captured the first working example of the FuG 220 Lichtenstein SN-2 radar and the FuG 350 Naxos and FuG 227 Flensburg passive radar detectors when a Ju 88G-1 landed by mistake in England on July 13th 1944. The only German centimetric wavelength air intercept radars, the FuG 240 Berlin and FuG 244/245 Bremen never made it past the trials phase.


End file.
